


The Times They Just Knew

by bigcitydreamer98



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigcitydreamer98/pseuds/bigcitydreamer98
Summary: Set after the finale, told through the POVs of Zoey's friends and family, those closest to Zoey recount the times they knew that Zoey and Max were falling for one another. From lingering glances to cheesy Dad jokes, slightly concerning outbursts of song to meeting the family Max never seems to talk about, Zoey and Max make it through it all - most importantly, together.
Relationships: Zoey Clarke & Max Richman, Zoey Clarke/Max Richman
Comments: 76
Kudos: 141





	1. Week 1: Simon

Simon knew that Zoey was in love. It wasn’t roses on her desk or cutesy pet names. It wasn’t matching Mickey ears or gratuitous PDA, urging “Get a room!” comments. 

No. They weren’t sickeningly sweethearts. Simon knew that Zoey was in love in the little ways, in the ways that only someone who was watching closely would see. He knew she was in love in the way that only someone who was in love with her would notice.

The first time, he was waiting for her to arrive at the reception of her father’s funeral. He sat, waiting patiently in the living room, watching as people he didn’t know pass him by. He knew the drill, knew how these things went, how there would be stacks of homemade food brought by who knows how many guests in the kitchen. He thought back to his father and the emptiness of the room after everyone left. Simon sat in the chair, not afraid that he, himself, would break down, but ready to be there if Zoey was showing signs.

He had seen Max already in the house, juggling serving spoons and bottle openers. Max maneuvered the kitchen as if he had been there a hundred times over, pulling drawers open and directing traffic. At Simon’s own father’s funeral, Simon had busied himself with playing waiter, serving drinks, getting kids crayons - anything that could distract him. 

In this instance, he knew that Max wasn’t trying to distract himself. He was wordlessly being there for Zoey, to make things run as smoothly as could be.

When Zoey arrived with the rest of her family, Simon couldn’t help but pull her into a hug. It was more of a comforting hug than one of any lingering feelings on her part. They didn’t need to say anything. Simon knew that Zoey knew that any words would just be unnecessary, would reiterate what was already conveyed in a glance. 

She moved into the dining room, talking for a minute with her father’s doctor. Max came up behind her, and slotted himself into the conversation. It was seamless, unspoken.

As Simon watched the two of them, there was a look, a glance, a gaze that told him everything he needed to know. He knew they were close. Hell, he knew that they were best friends in the purest form. Movie nights and cereal bar chats, lunches at that Thai place across the street and coffee every morning. He even heard the stories of the singalong pitch which was a disaster on paper, but actually worked. Thick as thieves. Simon should’ve realized that it was always going to be Max. 

For five years, since orientation day, he knew they were inseparable, at least that’s what Tobin told him. When he took a job in the office, Tobin was his “welcome buddy.” He revealed all the “hot goss” in the office. They passed by Leif who gave Tobin a high-five. Simon was introduced to Joan, turning a pen in her hands as she yapped into the phone. 

He didn’t take much note of it, but he remembered seeing Max and Zoey, eating Thai food and sitting in spinny chairs. Zoey was talking a mile a minute, waving her chopsticks around while Max was listening intently, interjecting at points and laughing at her antics all the while. 

“Zoey, we have 5 minutes left until lunch is over,” Max said, holding Zoey’s chair still, “You can talk to me all you want about taking apart your television later, but for now, just eat.” Zoey huffed but listened, pushing her auburn curls behind her ears.

But here, at the reception, the look between the two of them was something different. Simon had best friends. He knew how to be there for someone, but that look between Zoey and Max, it was more than just best friends - it was family. It was support and friendship, the kind of glance that says “I will be with you through anything. Just say the word.” It was love. 

Granted, Simon didn’t know if it was romantic or hopeful or the kind of love you have for the person who has seen you on your brightest mornings to darkest days, but he knew that it was something only between Max and Zoey. A look, that behind it, stood a long history.

As Zoey shrugged off her coat, Simon and Max were left to their own devices. If it was anybody else, he would’ve been mad. Even though jealous was a light way to put it, Max was right. Max was good. Zoey deserves the best and Simon knew in his heart that Max would always stand by her side. No doubt about it.

He saw Max and Zoey at the funeral, the way Max was greeted by Maggie and David, as if already part of the family. Simon noticed the way he automatically held the umbrella up for Zoey, so much so that he got a little rained on in the process. He saw how, when David was giving his speech, all due to a short intake of breath, a signal of sob to quickly follow, Max grabbed her hand in his own, his thumb rubbing circles over the top of her hand.

It was the little things, how he brought her wine, a smile of appreciation glazing over her face. How, no matter what room she was in, he always had an eye on her, to be by her side if she started to bounce her leg or pick at her nails. Simon knew that look all too well - Max was making sure that if it ever got overwhelming, if she ever had a second where her breath hitched and all the emotions came flooding back, he would be right there. 

He knew that Zoey was in love by the way she sat by Max on the steps, her head resting on his shoulder. As Simon left that night, he wasn’t angry or bitter. All he could think about was that he was so glad she had someone by her side the way he wished someone was there for him after his father passed away. 

Zoey was his grief counselor and therapist and most recently, the girl who he was falling for, but in that moment, he knew that he couldn’t be selfish. Even though she was his confidant, he knew that in her time of need, that didn’t automatically make him her’s. He would always be there for her in a heartbeat, but Simon could tell that she already had someone in her corner, who was there from the very beginning.


	2. Week 2: Maggie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the immediate aftermath of Mitch's death, Maggie struggles with this new reality.

Maggie was okay. She was working on a new floral project for her friend’s 65th birthday. She drank her coffee in the morning, sitting by the window to watch the birds as they fluttered around the foliage. She had both David and Zoey sleeping in their childhood rooms for the first time since, well, since they were both in college. She was okay. She was okay.

There was no need to pick up groceries - friends and family had that covered with copious amounts of food. Howie had all the hospital supplies taken out of the house while she was taking a morning stroll with Zoey. There was nothing that was urgent or pressing. Her children were by her side at every moment and she was okay. She was okay.

There were endless cycles of family and friends. They told stories of Mitch, talked about his wild (not) teen years and love for going to the docks. They smiled at old pictures and watched Maggie for any signs of an emotional breakdown. Max was a regular, bringing home-cooked food and popsicles for Zoey. There were long movie nights and music lessons as Max tried to teach Zoey that she doesn’t just have to listen to NPR. There is such a thing as radio.

Joan came by, Mo stopped in. Relatives, family members, neighbors, the one barista from the coffeeshop Mitch used to go to - all came by.

The worst of it came at night, when Zoey and David had retreated to their rooms, Emily right behind David. The bed was too big for one person and at night, the left side of the bed was cold and sharp. Maggie tossed and turned every night without fail.

It came when she would see his shoes in the corner of the room, or his watch on the vanity. Her eyes would well at the unheavenly amounts of ice cream in the freezer for milkshakes and late-night snacks. 

It swelled when she would instinctively make two cups of coffee - one for her and one for Howie, but Howie had long packed up and moved back home. Before she could start to spiral, David had taken the second cup from her with a knowing smile.

She had become relatively superstitious over the last couple of months. If she angled all the mugs in the same direction, Mitch would get better. If she put his toothbrush on the left side of her own, he would squeeze her hand that day. With him gone, her tendencies hadn’t subsided. 

When she could feel tears threatening to fall or a lightheaded sensation in her forehead, she would turn her wedding ring around three times. She was okay. She was okay.

Her children were a godsend. David handled all the mail, canceling Mitch’s credit cards and finishing any last arrangements. Zoey was just Zoey, deciding to dedicate her time to installing a new television, fixing up a bike that Maggie had purchased months ago and forgot about, and putting in wifi extenders all throughout the house. 

David had responded: “Zoey, the wifi is too fast. I sometimes like a little buffer.” Zoey laughed, the sound of her voice piercing through the silence. 

She touched her fingers to her lips, as if apologizing for breaking some unspoken rule. Zoey had looked at Maggie, watching for any response. 

In turn, Maggie smiled. “Oh, David, be nice to your sister.” And just like that, they had passed another hurdle. Zoey resumed tinkering and that was that.

When the bikes were fixed, the wifi was extended, the television was set, Maggie saw as her daughter pushed slightly towards the extremes. It was cleaning the oven or Marie Kondo-ing the linen closet. It was organizing the tupperware by size or testing out all the pens to see if they still had ink.

She was mostly worried about the amount of times Zoey would take apart and put together the microwave. One, she could get hurt, but two, Zoey only used to do that when she was stressed. 

Maggie remembered how she used to do it when she was home while she was in college. Maggie always knew that finals and midterms were coming up when she would come downstairs and Zoey would be sitting on the floor of the kitchen, fuzzy socks on her feet, a row of nuts and screws and wires surrounding her.

This time, it was three in the morning and Zoey was working away. When confronted by Maggie, Zoey had just waved her hand, continuing on her work. Two more attempts to break through didn’t work.

Maggie had to call in the professionals.

Max arrived fifteen minutes later, still in sweatpants and an old SPRQ Point t-shirt from the annual bake-off. He thanked Maggie for calling him before heading to the kitchen to a focused Zoey.

“Hey Zo,” he began, putting a hand on her back, “Why don’t you take a break. I can take you home if you want. Mo’s been asking about you.” He dropped to the ground next to her, making a little space for himself among the screws and the bolts.

Zoey looked up briefly, but her hands continued going through the motions, picking up pieces as if on automatic mode. 

“I’m fine, Max,” she said, but by Max’s expression, Maggie could tell that he knew that something was up. 

“Are you sure, Zo? We could watch a movie or I could tell you about how there is this new flavor cheesequake. Cookies and cream. Sounds odd, but surprisingly delicious.”

Max tried to catch her eyes with her own.

“Max. I just need to do this.” Her voice was direct, confident, a tad bit frenzied. “I need to do this,” she repeated, determination dripping on every syllable. He watched her for a moment, planning his next plan of attack.

He quickly pivoted tactics, taking a screwdriver in his hands. “Okay, then let’s do it together.”

Zoey broke her gaze from the screws and bolts to look at Max. His hair was drooping in his face and he was wearing two different colored socks. He had a pimple dot on the right of his forehead and here he was, sitting on her mother’s kitchen floor, putting together a microwave.

They worked for a couple of minutes, seconds away from finishing the project.

“You know what, Zo. I think you’re getting better at this. If there is a microwave Olympics, you would blow away the competition,” his gaze still on the last few screws. He almost didn’t notice as her eyes began to well up, her hands slightly shaking.

She collapsed in his arms, her face buried in his t-shirt. His mouth opened slightly in surprise before wrapping his arms around her.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, rubbing circles on her back. Maggie saw the interaction, she was making herself a cup of tea when Zoey finally let go.

Maggie watched as Max held her daughter, pressing a kiss on top of her head. He whispered something in her ear, making her smile just enough.

Maggie turned and slowly went back to bed. Before she fell asleep, she heard Max’s and Zoey’s laughs intertwined. The sounds of their voices rang throughout the house. Mitch’s side of the bed was still empty and cold, but Maggie fell asleep quickly, smiling as her daughter started to act like herself again.

When she woke up the next morning, the microwave was in one piece, thank God. There were open family photo albums on the dining room table and soaking bowls, stained by ice cream remnants. 

Maggie’s not sure what they are to one another, friends - yes, anything more, she’s not sure. She doesn’t know and she doubts they really know, but one’s thing for sure - the Clarke family is beyond lucky to have Max in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments are appreciated!!! I love reading any feedback!


	3. Week 3: Emily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newest Clarke joins the family.

The baby came on a Monday, when David was working and Emily was at home. They had planned for this, but in the first moments, it felt like Emily’s mind completely went blank. With a deep breath and a big push off the couch, she grabbed her phone with one hand, the baby bag with another. 

Her husband picked up on one ring. “David. It’s coming.” Those were all the words he needed to spring into action. 

“Honey, I’m at work but I’m leaving right now. I can be there in . . .”

“HEY, WATCH IT,” Emily heard another voice yell through the phone before a piercing honk.

“Geez,” David said under his breath before continuing his thought, “Do you have the bag? It’s all set. I checked it twice. How about a change of clothes? Your insurance card? Nevermind, I have mine right here. I have snacks in the car. You like Cool Ranch Doritos right? I have a whole bag right here. Not even opened. I can stop and get the red ones if you . . .”

“David!” Emily cut her husband off, “Shut up. I’ll meet you there.”

She rushed to call Maggie, telling Siri to message Zoey, all while calling an Uber with her smart watch. 

“Good Evening, Miss,” her Uber driver began with a blinding smile, “I have complimentary mints and you can have the aux. All day every day, bringing guests that five star service. That gold standard. That luxury service for the businesswoman on the go.” 

He was wearing slacks and a button down. There was an array of different cords hanging from the front seat, an assortment of q-tips, floss picks, and tide sticks in a hanging organizer. The car smelt of sandalwood and desperation.

Emily scrunched her nose before putting on her seatbelt. She always got the oddest collection of drivers. David always told her that it was because she had a low rating, but of course she was going to yell at drivers if they took the long way home, even straying from the Google Maps directions. 

Idiots.

“All right, you’re going to . . .” he scrolled on his phone. “The . . . hospital. Wait, are you having a baby right now? And I’m here to witness? What a day to be alive. The miracle of life,” he whispered, looking up to the sky to some unbeknownst God, “You could count on me. We’ll be there in no time.”

She had put in her headphones a few sentences ago. Emily had even already contacted her parents, who were back in LA and ready to make the drive up to the Bay. 

Just as she was ready to relax, well relax as much as she could given the circumstances, her phone started to vibrate. 

“Hello?” She answered, pulling out her insurance card so it would be readily available when she arrived. She leaned the seat back, resting her hand on her stomach.

“Emily. Hi. Yes, I’m coming. Can Max come too? He was going to drive me home from work. You know how I was always meaning to get my car fixed. Well, haven’t done that yet. I know, that’s on me. Good mechanics are really hard to find and my car has been struggling with these San Francisco hills. I could also just call an Uber if you don’t want him to come. He doesn’t . . .”

Emily should’ve been surprised she could talk that quickly without a deep breath, but she was often on the receiving end of Zoey’s nervous rants. “Zoey, stop.”

Under her breath, she mumbled, “It’s no wonder you and David are related.” Man, those Clarke’s can talk.

Before Zoey could process what that meant, Emily continued, “Are you really asking me if Max, the guy who’s known your family longer than I have, can come?”

Emily could hear Zoe’s, “umm,” on the other line before Emily spoke again: “Yes. Just meet us there.” 

She arrived at the hospital in no time, the rest of the family trickling in. 

. . . . . .

The next 6 hours were horrendous. The pain shot through her body, making period cramps feel like a stubbed toe in comparison. She wanted to scream and cry and melt into a puddle all at once. It was an ungodly pain that could only be described as cruel and unusual punishment.

A few hours in and she was sure she almost broke David’s hand a few times and honestly, at this point, she couldn’t care less.

“You did this to me,” she said, giving him her signature death glare. He knew it well, but no matter how many times he experienced her wrath, it always fazed him. He responded with a nervous chuckle, before diverting his gaze from her and onto Zoey following a loud, distinctive crunch.

Zoey looked like a deer in headlights, a half eaten Dorito hanging from the corner of her mouth. Just as David went to speak, Max grabbed David’s sister by her shoulders, turned her towards the door, and encouraged the first few steps towards safety.

Right before she was almost out of sight, her hand reached behind Max, grabbing the Doritos before scurrying off.

Max glanced at David in apology. “We’ll replace them,” he assured, before pushing her out completely.

The paneled door left nothing to hide. Even through the beeps and the hurried footsteps of nurses and doctors, both David and Emily could hear the two of them bickering:

“I was hungry,” Zoey said in protest, ending her sentence with a huff.

David chucked when he heard Max’s response, “Well, I’m sure your pregnant sister-in-law is hungry as well.”

Before they heard the two of them walk off, Emily could hear Zoey argue once more. “Maybe she had dinner. I didn’t.”

“I can steal the bag back,” David suggested, searching for anything to help alleviate the pain. It would be the kind of fight Emily would like to see for the sheer humor of it all. David had height on Zoey, but rest assured, her sister-in-law was scrappy.

Emily shook her head, “I don’t like Cool Ranch, only Nacho Cheese.”

She couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as his facial expressions got the best of him.

“You should’ve said . . . I could’ve got . . . you’re impossible.”

. . . . . .

Peter Mitchell Clarke arrived in the wee hours of the morning. 

Emily held Maggie’s hand as a tear fell down her face. David looked at her mother, concern in his eyes, but she quickly wiped it away.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just sad your father didn’t get to meet him.” 

No one said anything, but what else could be said? It was only three weeks since Mitch’s passing. The wounds were still ripe and the pain was just below the surface. But, the look on Maggie’s face didn’t look like one of regret or dismay, but rather one of recognition and remembrance of a person who deserved more than the hand he was dealt.

Emily was half delirious at that point, but she could’ve swore she heard David determine from a tiny wisp of hair that Peter was going to be a redhead. He scrunched up his nose and looked at his sister. 

Before passing out, Emily lovingly called him an idiot and Zoey hit her brother smack in the chest.

. . . . .

Two days after her body went through the ringer, Emily, David, and Peter went home, followed by Emily’s parents. It was hard, not going to lie. 

It was the feeding and the changing, the crying and the constant neuroses about taking care of Peter that Maggie had assured her came with the territory. Even if she didn’t have to be worried that she was going to break Peter at any minute, as easily as a doll, worry did cloud her brain.

It had slightly calmed down when Zoey and Max had strolled in on Friday evening, carrying bowls of cereal. 

“I stole it from work,” Zoey had whispered, but it was less of a whisper and marked more as a proud accomplishment. David hugged his sister, grabbing a few fruit loops from her bowl before situating himself on a stool. 

“The bowls too?” He reached for another handful.

“Shit! The bowls too. We have to return them.” Zoey turned to Max, a dribble of milk falling down her chin. 

“And you will tomorrow,” Max chuckled, wiping the drop with his thumb. He walked to the entrance, hanging up his and Zoey’s coats on the rack. Zoey kicked off her shoes, collapsing on the sofa.

“Work has been stressful. There’s this whole thing about Smart Pants. I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about them, but Smart Pants? How smart could pants be? Real question . . . how smart do you want pants to be?” 

Any response was interrupted by the sounds of a cry. Emily got up first, picking up Peter from the nursery and bringing him to meet their company. A tiny hat covered his little head and the teeny-tiniest clothes wrapped up his small frame.

“Look,” David said, “It’s your Aunt Zoey and Uncle Max.” He raised Patrick’s hand to give a slight wave. 

When he said, ‘Uncle Max,’ Emily instinctively looked at the two of them. David caught on slightly after, “I mean, if you want to be. You’re around all the time anyway. I didn’t mean it in that way.”

Max beamed as he fixed the hat on little Peter’s head, “I’m going to be the best Uncle in the whole entire world, way better than Aunt Zoey.”

Max leaned down to Peter’s level, “She’s a thief.”

And with that, Zoey turned on her heel, grabbing the bowls. “That’s it. I’ll be back in half an hour,” Zoey said, Max on her heels. 

“And we’re getting cheesequakes.” Max laughed as he followed her out. They came back 45 minutes later (Zoey takes a long time to choose), cheesequakes in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are greatly appreciated! Tobin is next!


	4. Month 2: Tobin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin's suspicions rise as Zoey acts, god-forbid, happy.

“Hey, Rachel. Lookin’ fly as hell today,” Tobin said, twirling on his heel, pushing his cap to the side.

“Kevin,” he pointed at the new guy as if they were the best of friends, “Superdry sale on Market Street this Thursday? Should I pencil you in? I’ll pencil you in.” 

Tobin propelled into his chair, pushing off the ground and towards Leif, who gave him a fist bump. “Leif - you, me and this new bar on 3rd. I heard it’s mad tight. Friend of a friend said there’s a drink that the bartenders light on fire. It would look sweet as hell on my Insta stories. Gotta keep my audience engaged.”

He tossed his coat over his shoulder and propped his feet up on Leif’s desk. “The daily rundown. Amanda from accounting supposedly has a YouTube channel rating vintage stores. Not that we need any style advice, but if I’m going to be the peanut butter to her jelly by the end of the year, I gotta at least have an in, know what I’m saying? I think I can pull off some grandpa plaids. Now you. Gossip me.”

“Umm,” Leif began. He racked his brain for anything useful, but nothing fit the bill.

Zoey passed by, holding a notebook in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. 

Leif commented, “You know.” He pointed his pencil at Zoey, “She doesn’t go to the Golden Gate Grind anymore. That’s a Sightglass coffee cup if I’ve ever seen one.”

Tobin rolled his eyes, dramatically hitting himself over the head. “Leif. You have to get with the freaking program. You’re my number one guy and you can’t be slacking with the office goss. Somebody’s gotta keep the rumor mill churning all day, every day.”

Tobin spun back to his desk, taking a granola bar from Leif’s stack. “She hasn’t gone there in weeks. Where have you been? There was a girl - pretty little thing. Came to Spell-iversary. Then there was a fight. I’ve heard through the grapevine that there was a comment that Max dresses like a third grader. Can’t argue with that. Not everyone can pull off what we can.”

Tobin tossed some powder into his Nutribullet before making himself a protein shake. 

“Hey guys, if you could gather on the stairs for a second. I have some things to go over regarding the Chirp,” Zoey called, peeling a clementine at her desk.

“I was just about to get my nutrition on!” Tobin protested, but listened. The group spread out on the stairs, munching on breakfast or sipping through their first round of morning caffeine. 

“Where’s Max,” Leif asked from his seat in the first row, “You got his job back, didn’t you? If he’s gone, I’d love to put my name in the mix for the open manager position. I have references ready to go, just let me. . .”

Zoey swiftly interrupted, “Yes, he could’ve chosen to come back here, but he’s decided to move on from SPRQ Point. It was his decision and if you want to, reach out to him at some point to say goodbye. I’m sure he’ll be around soon to pick up any last minute things.”

That was putting it lightly. 

Over the next couple of weeks, it almost felt like Max hadn’t left at all. The guy came in to clean out his desk, then he returned to do an exit interview with Zoey, then one with Joan. The next day, he forgot his card reader. Tobin was getting tired of saying goodbye to the dude.

It was weird. Tobin was the first one to bet that Zoey would be sulking around the office for the next couple of weeks. It wasn’t like she was exactly close with the rest of the team. Joan and she seemed to have the whole lady-bonding thing going for them, but Max was her numero uno. 

Even Tobin missed the guy more than Zoey seemed to miss him. 

If anything, Zoey seemed happy - dare he say - chipper? 

He would normally label her as an anxious wreck, but recently it was like she was walking on air. She even reciprocated his high five today. She’s been listening to music rather than NPR podcasts. He could tell by the way she had a smile on her face rather than a look of relative concern. He knew she listened to Code Switch, but who does that on a regular basis? It’s all just so depressing.

“Drugs,” Leif suggested, “It has to be drugs.”

“That girl won’t even touch a Red Bull out of fear that it would ruin her for life,” Joan joined the conversation, watching Zoey as she tapped her foot, headphones over her ears, “It has to be something different.”

Tobin gasped, squinting his eyes, “No empty cup in her trash can. She isn’t even caffeinated and she’s still happy. Gross.”

“Should I notify the on-call therapist? He could be here in half an hour, 15 minutes if I use the dirt I have on him.” 

Tobin took Joan’s cellphone, which she had already held up to her ear, and placed it on the counter in front of them.

“No. I’ve been training for this.”

. . . . . . 

“James! My man!” The man in question reluctantly returned Tobin’s fist bump. He didn’t even know that Tobin knew his name. They worked on opposite sides of the office and really, there was never a reason to seek out Tobin or vice versa. 

Tobin unzipped his sweatshirt and folded it on James’ desk. “My friend, my pal. What’s cooking? You know? This sweatshirt - Jay-Z wore it when he was picking up groceries at Whole Foods last month. I knew I just had to have it.”

James arched his eyebrow and nodded politely. His friend at the adjacent desk went to interrupt the two of them, to save James from what could become a long conversation about celebrity styles, but James waved him off.

“I see. Hey, Tobin, I kinda have this project to finish before the end of the day. Do you need something from me?”

With a knowing smile, Tobin began, “Aww, I knew we were on the same wavelength. There have been rumors spreading that you sell drugs. And look, no shame. Everyone has a side hustle, but I need you to try to sell them to somebody, see if it takes.”

James should’ve braced himself for the absurdity that just came out of Tobin’s mouth. “Now, who told you that?”

Tobin lowered his voice to a whisper. “I saw you popping pills with Andrew last month. This open floor plan layout doesn’t lend itself to secrets, if you know what I mean.”

James just had to laugh, taking Tobin by surprise. “Man, I gave him an allergy pill. Spring has sprung and all that. I have more if you need some. My wife keeps me stocked up.” He pulled out an Allegra bottle from his desk.

Tobin rolled away in his chair, his mouth shut in a tight line. When he was out of James' sight, he mumbled, “Plan B.”  
. . . . . .

“Simon! My man,” Tobin threw a careless hand over the taller man’s shoulders, “Raisin Bran. Solid choice. Healthy with a little surprise. I respect.” Tobin rolled an apple over in his hands as he followed Simon towards his office.

“I was just thinking, we should be friends and all. Us people of color need to stick together, fight the power and all of that.”

Simon raised his eyebrow, opened his mouth to speak and then shut it. It wasn’t worth it.

Tobin walked backward, trying to stay in front of Simon.

“As friends, I think the first order of business. . . why is Zoey so happy? Leif thinks it's drugs, but Joan is dead set that it’s something else. I tried the drug plan, but my drug guy didn’t pan out. Help a bro out. In return, I can tell you what Stacey from PR said about your pocket square. I have some juicy deets.”

At the sound of Zoey’s name, Simon stopped in his tracks. There was a pregnant pause before he responded.

“If she’s happy, let her be happy. She’s been going through a lot these last couple of weeks. She deserves to smile,” Simon asserted, closing the glass door of his office, Tobin standing like a puppy dog behind the glass.

When it was apparent that Tobin wasn’t going to move, Simon sighed. “I’ll talk to her.” 

Tobin threw a victory fist in the air before bounding back to his desk. 

“We should have codenames. I could be the Silent Assassin,” Tobin retreated behind his computer, so Leif could only see his eyes peeking out from behind the screens.

Leif was typing away, trying to debug some code for the Chirp. His brow was furrowed and his leg bouncing. Still looking at the screen, he answered, “But you’re not killing anyone, how could you be an Assassin?”

Tobin sighed. “You’ll be Deadly Eagle.”

. . . . . .

That night, Tobin watched as the plan came to a head. Zoey had picked up some paperwork from the printer and she was just going to head back to her desk, when a familiar face stopped her.

Tobin peeked his head out from behind his desk. He turned his earpods off, while still leaving them in.

He quickly texted his partner in crime: *The Robin has been approached*

Leif had gone home, proudly announcing for Tobin to hear, but projecting it just loud enough for the entire office to hear, that he was going to come in early the next morning to get a head start on the day’s work.

His best friend quickly responded: *Who’s the Robin? I think we need a spreadsheet of all these code names*

Tobin huffed. He would fill in Leif later. Right now, he had to listen.

“Hey, Zoey,” Simon began, shifting his body weight from one foot to the other, “How’s my grief duffle working out for you?”

Zoey went to get her stapler from her desk. Quickly, Tobin silently rolled out of her eyesight, dimming the light of his computer monitor.

“It’s perfect. The chocolate pretzels were my favorite. The essential oils on the other hand. Look, I know they are supposed to calm you down, but I was stressed just trying to figure out how to work the diffuser.” 

Simon chuckled, spinning his keys around on his finger. He leaned his weight up on the desk, readjusting the strap of his briefcase. “I know it’s been a little bit since your dad passed. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. Even if it’s 4 in the morning and it just becomes too much. You know I go big or go home.”

Zoey smiled back, settling down at her desk, rearranging her pencils, “I really appreciate it. I do. I think I’m okay given everything.”

Simon raised an eyebrow in response.

“No, really. I’m not overcompensating. I just feel like it was so hard for him during the last of it. To not be able to speak, to communicate, to move. I would hate it. I know he was hurting and I can’t be selfish with him, to be mad that he wasn’t around longer when he was just a prisoner in his own body. It’s hard, yes, and it’s the little things that still trip me up, like his favorite coffee cup or a bookmarks folder of travel tips for Paris that he never got to experience. But, I think it’s always going to be hard. I just hope he is happy wherever he is, that he’s free to talk and walk and laugh,” Zoey finished, looking up at Simon.

At that point, Tobin thought he was doing a little too much snooping. Now it was starting to feel really personal, but Tobin couldn’t escape without getting caught.

Simon reassured Zoey, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Well, I, for one, believe that’s a great way to think about it.”

He took a breath, the words falling out wrapped up in such sincerity, “I’m here for you, Zoey. Always.”

Zoey smiled as she settled back in, moving the mouse so the computer woke up once more. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Simon, and thank you.”

Simon walked off, but before he entered the elevator, he looked back at Zoey, who had now plugged her earbuds in and already started to type away. The stare was a little too elongated to be placed in the range of friendly. 

Oooo, Simon’s got a crush. Tobin had to report back to Leif tomorrow morning. That was for sure the top item in the daily briefing. Definitely beat the news that Michael from International Affairs was using up way too many post-its for any normal human being.

When he was certain Zoey was back in coder mode, he slipped out and headed towards the elevators, certain that, as his codename suggested, he was a Silent Assassin, well at least the silent part.

Tobin hadn’t thought he was down in his car for so long. He was trying to order Chinese food for pick-up, but his card wasn’t working at first and then he was comparing prices on Postmates, Seamless, and UberEats, so by the time everything was settled, it must’ve been half an hour later.

That’s why he was surprised when another car entered the parking lot, and out walked Max. 

Did that guy forget something else again? The doors would be locked and Max’s key card for sure no longer works. Tobin huffed as he unbuckled his seatbelt, ready to be the hero for the day.

Before he could even open the car door, Zoey exited the building, headphones swung around her neck and her notebook under her arm.

When Max pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and Zoey didn’t act like anything was wrong, as if it was normal for her best friend to do, Tobin knew something was up.

Tobin’s eyes opened wide, tilting his head, and snapping a mental image. Now there’s a progression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented so far! They really keep me incredibly motivated to write more. Thanks for reading. I loved writing from Tobin's perspective. Leif will be next.


	5. Month 3: Leif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max gets a new job and the gang somehow ends up playing a cutthroat game of laser tag.

Leif heard it through the grapevine, well, if the grapevine was a network of yuppies. Now, yuppies look different depending on their turf. East Coast yuppies, hailing from the likes of Columbia, Harvard, and Brown, were usually decked out in Brooks Brothers, milling around craft breweries and raging about the newest article in the Times. 

San Francisco yuppies, now they’re a different breed. Artisanal coffee is the game. Reducing waste and talking about upcycling was a way of life. The tech industry doesn’t care about suits and ties. The look is comfort, showing that you’re chill on the outside, but underneath, you could be as cutthroat as they come. 

Leif had cultivated his selection of contemporaries over the years, from networking events to tech showcases. It was not unlike the mob mentality of the council of the most powerful prep. school girls in Gossip Girl. What? Leif did his research. If he was going to make it to the top, he was going to need some help from the plotting, ploying teenagers of the Upper East Side.

Plus, his sister liked to watch the show.

The council was made up of 6 members, each an up-and-comer in their own right. Leif represented SPRQ Point, but the other members represented Apple, Google, Samsung, Microsoft, and Flicker Tech. Together, they were going to use intel, charisma, and crisp business cards to rise up in their respective companies.

It was a delicate balance. Each member knew they couldn’t trust the others with their secrets, but they could use one another to advance their careers. That’s why when the news came that Max was going to be a coder at Flicker Tech, the Flicker member immediately called a meeting.

Flicker Tech was SPRQ Point’s biggest frenemy. Danny Michael Davis, CEO of SPRQ Point, and the founder of Flicker hailed from the same university, the same graduating class to be exact. They both began their companies at the same time, one working more on wearables and one working more on smart home devices. Overlap was bound to happen and happen it did.

This year, just as SPRQ Point released their watch, Flicker released their own. One week, SPRQ Point was pulling ahead in sales and the next, Flicker was dominating the charts. Flicker was growing by the day, news constantly reporting that Flicker had taken over smaller tech companies as if it was as easy as finding an unpaid internship.

The CEOs were cordial, and they even played up the little rivalry. Every year, the two companies had a joint field day out in Flicker’s quad. It was meant to promote team building, but a little competition never hurt anybody. And this year, it was scheduled for this Friday.

“Max Richman is now a part of Flicker. Is this going to complicate things?” The Flicker representative, Kenward Connolly, slid a business card across the table - Max’s to be exact. Kenward came from money, but his clothes would never give him away. He had an undergraduate degree from Berkeley, a graduate degree from Stanford and a charisma that could cut through the toughest of rooms. Put him in a room with someone and next thing you know, that person is offering to do anything from picking up his dry cleaning to grabbing him lunch at the local sandwich shop. That man was dangerous.

The business card in question was thick with rounded edges and a nice weight to it. 

Yup, that was Max, alright. On the right side, in neat letters, SOFTWARE DEVELOPER, FLICKER TECH, was printed. 

Leif wasn’t surprised. Once you work at one of the big companies, you were either bound to move onto another one from the roster, or start your own. Still, it was nice information to have.

“Max is nice. I don’t have any dirt on him,” Leif said, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair, “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He grabbed his reusable straw from his bag, sliding the metal out of the case.

The Flickerer continued, “I want to make sure he isn’t going to steal code from us and bring it back to you guys.” Kenward leaned forward and grasped the business card, storing it securely in his wallet. He took a sip of his matcha latte.

“Max is harmless, don’t worry about him. I should be the one worried, worried about whether he is going to take SPRQ Point lines of code and bring it to Flicker.”

Kenward tensed in his chair, readjusting his position, ready for an argument if need be: “Look, I’ve seen none of that. I can prove . . .”

Leif raised a hand to silence the Flickerer. “You’re so uptight. I know Max isn’t the type to do that. He’s like a golden retriever. He has morals. But I do warn you, he’s on this new kick of wanting to lead. So that position you’ve been vying for, watch out.”

The man nodded in acknowledgment before zipping up his sweatshirt and collecting his things from the counter.

“Will do. See you at the bloodbath this Friday?” Kenward held the door open for Leif to follow.

“It’s not a bloodbath. It’s field day,” Leif replied, but before he could say anything, Kenward chuckled at the younger man’s naiveté and headed on his way.

. . . . . .

From the outside, it would look like a child’s dream come true. There were bounce houses, tug-o-war, cornhole, and a video game truck, equipped with Mario Kart and Just Dance. There was a popcorn machine and people were eating cotton candy in the colors of Flicker’s and SPRQ Point’s logos. 

All SPRQ Point employees donned yellow t-shirts while Flicker employees were wearing red. Tobin, of course, took it to the next level. He had yellow eye paint and matching socks. He was wearing a light up necklace and a bandana around his arm.

“Let’s freakin’ get it!” Tobin exclaimed while running around, giving people high-fives. 

While it looked like it was by far the best day of the year, there was a rivalry simmering under the surface. 

Jeremy from Ad Sales was talking with a Red Shirt: “You know, Forbes labels SPRQ Point as one of the top five places to work. You should see our new omelet bar.” The Flickerer just rolled her eyes, “Look who’s quad you’re on.” She then threw the bean bag, getting it right in the hole with ease. She winked and walked off.

A Red Shirt began a Mario Kart race, handing the controller like it was his third hand. “Have you seen our quarterly projections?” His cart sped ahead, taking over the SPRQ Point employee’s own vehicle. “Record-breaking,” he asserted as he got 1st Place.

This was one of Leif’s favorite events because all the managers, executives, and officials of SPRQ Point were always there, well, it was mandatory. Whatever the case, if he could stand out on the field, he could prove that he could lead in the office.

The only problem was, Simon kept taking charge. So what if he was tall and probably played sports. Leif would get his time to shine.

He got two ice creams from the ice cream bar and handed one to Joan, who was attached to her phone. “I did pretty well at tail tag. You know, my leadership skills have been improving tremendously this past year. I think I’m really starting to come into my own.”

When Joan put up a finger to silence him, he turned on his heel. Next plan of attack: figuring out who is going to take over that open manager position. 

Simon was probably his number one rival, granted, he wasn’t really sure what Simon really did at the company, but no matter. He was going to investigate.

“Hey,” Leif slapped a hand on Tobin’s back, “Gossip me.”

Tobin’s eyes lit up as he finished his hamburger. “You’ve come to the right place, my friend. I have Simon on tap, Zoey, Neil from Corporate Sales - the sandwich bandit, I think we’ve caught him, Madison from Recruitment, . . .”

Leif stopped him, “Hit me with Simon.”

“Well,” Tobin began, leading Leif towards the finger painting station. These companies are ridiculous. Tobin pointed out Simon, who was making a nice rendition of a flower, “Every five minutes he keeps looking over at Max and Zoey.”

Tobin was right. Right across from him were Zoey and Max, painting rudimentary sailboats.

“I’m horrible at this,” Zoey laughed, wiping her finger on the napkin, “I was in Math Olympiads, not afterschool art classes.” The bold strokes of blue and green, yellow and pink did nothing to distinguish the piece as a sailboat. It looked like a kindergartener had a temper tantrum. 

Leif would agree that it was pretty bad. He’s not sure how many lopsided sailboats would be able to float. Zoey and Max were the only two people from opposing companies who were actually having fun together. It was almost sacrilegious. 

“Same here,” Max said, holding up his painting to the light, “But it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that my boat is at least presentable and yours looks like a toaster oven.” Zoey playfully pushed his shoulder, swiping the rest of his blue paint. 

A “hey” would ensue from Max, but he didn’t really protest the robbery. 

Kenward came up behind Leif, making him jump ever so slightly, then playing it off like he meant to do that.

“You sure they’re not sharing secrets?” Kenward asked, ignoring Tobin’s arched eyebrow.

Tobin butted in, “Only in bed, what what!” 

Over the speakers one of Flicker employees notified the group that there would be a laser tag game starting near the lunch tents in five minutes. Leif and Kenward started walking off.

“I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I don’t know anything about their romantic relations. It’s important to respect boundaries between coworkers. I’ll do better.” By that point, Leif and Kenward were making their way to the tents to grab their vests and guns. 

“Guys? Guys? Leif?” Tobin called out to his friend. “Are you replacing me with him? LEIF?”

. . . . . .

The laser tag match was anything but cordial. Leif still isn’t sure how they were able to get so many laser tag supplies. He decided not to question it. Tobin, on the other hand, was made for this.

“Years of practice, my man,” Tobin said while barrel-rolling towards a collection of Flicker employees hiding out. Leif was doing his best to stay in the game. He had played enough Call of Duty growing up to generally know a few moves here and there.

Joan was just yelling at people to not shoot her unless she would ban them from ever attending SPRQ Point’s annual tech. showcase. This year, Shawn Mendes was going to perform.

“Can she do that?” Tobin asked, holding his arm like he was in serious pain from a football game or actual war, rather than over-exerting himself playing laser tag. 

“Nah, but she knows that,” Leif replied, hitting a few Flicker employees who were stocking up on provisions of cotton candy and M&Ms. 

Simon was shooting around, like he was the team’s resident Hawkeye. Even Leif would admit, it was impressive.

Leif wasn’t sure if Zoey thought she was hiding, but anyone who knew her could tell she was behind the popcorn machine over in the far corner by the way a stray, red curl was blowing in the wind.

The number of players was dwindling as more and more people were eliminated (and as the ice cream bar was restocked). 

The Flicker team had made somewhat of a fort using picnic sheets and the art easels. On the other hand, the SPRQ Point group had decided on the food tables as their home base. It was an all out war.

Tobin was the first one of the 4th floor group to get out. 

He stumbled, falling in front of three Flicker girls, hiding out in the no-man’s zone. Tobin dramatically held his hand over his eye, moaning from the pain. Straining his voice he said, “There must be something wrong with my eyes.”

As one girl went to put her hand on his shoulder, he regained composure, his voice back to normal and a smile filling his face, “I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Gross,” she responded before shooting him in the chest. His vest blinked red. “Aww, man,” Tobin said, getting up, “I can forgive you, baby, no worries at all. All relationships are a little rocky.” The girls rolled their eyes.

Leif looked at his team. It was getting pretty desperate. Joan was nowhere to be found. She had left ten minutes ago to call her therapist back, but she hadn’t returned and he’s pretty sure he saw her car drive out of the parking lot. 

Zoey was still hiding out, whispering to him that she isn’t cut out for physical activity. She only lasted one week in Girl Scouts.

He scanned the field. One of the executives was crouching behind the water balloon station. He was certain that he could get her attention if he just went all out. He mustered up the courage and popped out from behind his covering. 

Like in all the war movies he had seen over the years, he went out, guns blazing. Before he could even get one shot in, his vest lit up. At least he tried. He looked to the executive, who had been watching the whole thing. Shit.

Leif watched from the side, Tobin leaning up against the inflatable chair. “We’ll get them next time, buddy,” Tobin reassured. Leif shot him a smile.

By the time he looked back, Max was sitting on enemy soil, next to Zoey. Leif was close enough to hear them.

“Max, just shoot me,” Zoey pleaded, her hands on his shoulders. Max had his gun on top of Zoey’s, not protecting himself in the slightest.

“Max, Max, please,” Zoey placed his gun back in his hands. When he was reluctant, she motioned to the field.

“Look at it,” she said, “You know what’s going to happen. It’s going to end up being Simon and I. The whole SPRQ Point team is almost gone and I do not under any circumstances want to be the last one standing.”

Max put the gun down, turning to face her, “I’m not going to do you dirty like that. We’ll win fair and square.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. 

“Ughhh, you’re impossible,” she stated, shoving the gun back in his hands, “I’m going to play the high school card. Dodgeball. It was awful. I hated it and I was always the last one out because I would hide in the back. Don’t make me relive those moments. Do this for me, Max.”

It was as if dodgeball was the magic word. “I did hate when that would happen. At my school, you could free the whole team if you were the last person on your team still in the game. There was so much pressure. So much.” He looked out into the distance as if taken back to his high school years.

“You won’t be mad?” Max asked, waiting for her response.

“Take me out of my misery.” 

With that, the two of them got up and he shot Zoey square in the chest. Simon looked over towards them at that moment, his lips pressed together. 

“Max, not cool, man. I know you’re on the Flicker team now, but Zoey’s your friend.” Before Max or Zoey could explain, Simon took a shot at Max and any civility was gone.

It was like an action movie. Simon was firing all around, vests lighting up in his wake. At some point, it was down to Simon against six or seven Flicker employees, including Max. 

Maybe a little too confident, Simon rolled out of his hiding spot and ran towards the Flicker fort. He got three people out, before he turned his attention to Max. He shot his gun, but Max side stepped and shot him right back, winning the game. 

Zoey, who was watching on the sidelines, couldn’t help but chuckle. That dance step was one that he learned for an NSYNC dance he did for a middle school talent show that he unwillingly performed for her years ago when he was slightly tipsy. 

A whistle was blown and screams from the Flicker team bellowed throughout the quad. Max was bestowed with a balloon crown and as the announcer said, a paid vacation day for any remaining Flicker players. Before he ran back to his team to celebrate, he ran to Zoey, placing the crown on top of her head and a quick peck on her cheek. 

A goofy smile lined his lips.

She laughed as he returned to the Flicker group, already blasting “We are the Champions.”

Leif was far enough from the center to see Simon watch the whole interaction, his brow furrowed. A pensive look stuck on his face. He approached Zoey. She turned to meet his gaze.

“Good game, didn’t know you could shoot like that,” she said, pulling the vest over her head. When he didn’t give her a hint of a smile, her tone softened, “Hey, are you okay? You know, you could tell me anything.”

Simon’s shoulders relaxed and he placed his gun on the table.

“Zoey, just be honest with me. Do I have a chance? You know how I feel about you. I used to not be able to admit stuff like this but, I’m different now. You made me different. I know it’s only been a couple of months since your father and I understand if . . .” Simon trailed off.

“I’m kinda . . .,” Zoey began. She didn’t have to say another word. Once Simon followed her glance to Max, who was pumping his fist in the air after his team’s victory, he just knew. 

When Zoey saw Simon’s expression change, she couldn’t help but try to smooth things over. “It’s just, I know that you and I . . .” 

“Look,” she took a deep breath, “What I’m trying to say is that I want to be friends. I don’t want to hurt you, Simon. I never did. I understand if it’ll be too hard on you and if you never want to see me again. We do work in the same office, so you’ll probably see me, but . . .”

Simon took a moment, watched as Max looked towards her and shot her a killerwatt smile, his forehead a tad sweaty from the game and his teammates hanging onto his shoulders, patting him in celebration. Zoey smiled back, raising her fist up in support before her gaze fell back on Simon. 

Zoey looked down at the ground as if she was almost embarrassed for that little moment. Max started to walk over, closing the distance.

Simon inhaled and then exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He looked at Zoey and then at Max. What was strange to Leif was that there was a brief minute when her expression changed, as if she was startled by something. 

“You didn’t just sing to me just now, right?” She asked Simon. When he tilted his head, confusion settling in, she quickly composed herself and brushed it off.

When Max joined the duo, he shot Zoey a smile. 

Before she could even say another word to Simon, continuing their conversation and either apologizing for following her heart or asking him again to continue their friendship, Simon interrupted.

“I hear Tournament of Knights is coming to town in two weeks? You, me, Mo, Eddie . . . and Max? What do you say?”

Zoey took a short intake of breath, and then relaxed, a smile returning to her face. It was all the proof she needed that everything was going to be okay. 

“How could I say no to giant turkey legs and jousts. But pro-tip. You have to bring your own sauce. It upgrades the whole experience. Last time, I slipped some In-N-Out sauce into the arena and it changed the game.” Zoey led the way to the parking lot.

Simon backed away, looking at her like she just took the Lord’s name in vain. “The sauceless part is necessary for the whole experience. It wasn’t like knights were hitting up the local fast food chain before heading to their jousts.”

Max laughed, looking down at Zoey. “You know, I might have to agree on that one. Authenticity counts for something.”

Zoey pushed him away, playfully irritated. “Don’t give me that load of garbage. Last time we went, you got mad because the wifi was slow and you wanted to send a picture to your mom.” 

“You got me there, Zo,” Max unlocked the car and Zoey got in, her arms still crossed in protest.

“See you around, man?” Simon questioned, pulling out his own keys from his pocket.

Max nodded and got in his car himself, “I’m for sure bringing my own sword. Tournament of Knights has clunky ones.”

From inside the car, Zoey commented, “You have a sword?” Simon laughed as he bid them adieu.

Leif sighed, looking for his own ride. All that snooping and he was no closer to getting that position. At least Tobin was coming over later for a Star Wars marathon. Max may have a sword but Tobin and Leif have collectible lightsabers. Who’s the cool one now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 - what a fun one to write and a long one at that. I wanted some conclusion to the love triangle as well as ensuring that it didn't feel like a competition threaded with toxic masculinity, but rather one of respecting Zoey and her choices.
> 
> The next chapter will be Mo and after some planning, I think the story will go for about 14-15 chapters. And just so you know - my speciality is really fluff so there isn't going to be much angst, some doubts and fears and all that, but it'll be stock full of Clarkeman cute moments.
> 
> Thanks for reading - leave a review if you feel so inclined!


	6. Month 6: Mo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mo comforts an apprehensive Zoey.

The knocking came at midnight, right as Mo was about to fall asleep.

Mo was going to have to instate office hours. It was just simply too much.

“Zoey if you knock one more time, I am going to raise your rent,” he called, opening the door to reveal Zoey, a frantic look in her eyes. That girl needed to relax, maybe see a shrink. He made it a mental note to call around. She walked right under his arm, plopping down on the couch, curling up in a ball.

Zoey was like a stray cat. If you keep helping her and guiding her, she is bound to show up at your door in the middle of the gosh darn night. Mo should’ve known better, but how could he say no to her when she did that thing with her eyes - she looked like a doe that he needed to protect.

“Lay it on me,” Mo said, grabbing his skin toner from the adjacent table. If she was going to talk, he might as well catch up on his beauty routine. He was going for Korean glass skin. It’s all the rage now, but seventeen steps of exfoliating and moisturizing, applying masks and toners and serums, and it was bound to take a long time.

Zoey laid out on the couch, her feet hanging over the edge and a hand placed dramatically on her head.

“Max sang to me,” she said, looking at Mo as if it was the end of the world.

“Zoey, girl, if you really decided to come make yourself at home in my apartment in the middle of the night because your boyfriend sang you a love song, you really need to rethink your choices. He’s been singing songs to you since the beginning of your superhero origin story.” Mo got up to show Zoey out, but he stopped when she pulled the blanket around herself, supposedly bolting herself to the upholstery.

“It’s not that! He wants to move in with me and I don’t know what to do.”

Mo sighed and returned to his seat. He isn’t going to get rid of her tonight. “Tell me what happened . . .”

Zoey reached for the plate of cookies on the table, breaking off one piece by piece.

She took a breath before beginning, “Okay, so we were getting a later dinner at this place on the Bay. We both get out of work so late, so finding time is sometimes hard. He wanted to try this place and I wanted to try it. Plus, Tobin said it was hella tight and I guess that’s a good thing? Farmhouse grilled cheese at Cowgirl Creamery’s Sidekick Cafe. We have to go some time. It’s heavenly, like I want that cheese at all future get togethers. Write that down.”

Zoey stopped, looking expectantly at Mo.

“I am not writing that down. Zoey it is,” he looked at his phone, “Already tomorrow. You have to hurry up. I need my beauty sleep.”

Mo got comfortable in his chair. Zoey huffed, but continued. “Okay, don’t write it down, but I expect you to remember it.”

Zoey took a bite of the cookie. “My God, is this from the Golden Gate Grind? Mo, you can’t go there! Autumn knows you. Remember? Spell-iversary? She knows you, who knows me, who knows Max and she HATES Max. We sacrificed our favorite coffee shop just to avoid her.”

Mo let her get it out of her system before explaining, “Autumn no longer works at the Grind. I went in last Tuesday to pick up a mobile order, hoping that she wouldn’t be there, but really, what was that little blondie going to do to me? Nevertheless, her coworker said that while Autumn was staring at the ocean for 8 hours - her record - she decided she wanted to pursue a career in marine life so she got a job at the Aquarium of the Bay. You and Max might want to avoid it for a while, but coffee seems to be your fix more than sea lions so you’re in the clear. The Grind is now officially safe.”

Zoey perked up, probably thinking of that decadent nonfat latte that she missed so dearly.

Mo waved his hand, ushering Zoey to continue.

“Oh, right. Well, it was going perfectly and he was sweet and I was happy. We don’t get to see each other as much as we did when he worked at SPRQ Point, but we make it work. Did you hear? I finally got my car fixed. I was going to have to resort to taking the trolley around like a real tourist. Okay, okay, besides the point. Anyway, it just came out. Bam. Song.”

/ / / / /

“My god, this is freakin’ delicious,” Zoey said, her mouth full of sandwich, “I don’t even care that my mouth is burning, which it is. Like it’s going to hurt like hell later on.”

By her side, Max chuckled, blowing on his own. “I’m glad you like it. You know, I’m happy we got to do this. It’s hard when we get out of work at different times. It’s almost a game at Flicker to see who could stick around the longest. You’re never going to believe it, but they have those sleep pods that you see at fancy business class airport lounges. I once took a three hour nap in there, no joke. White noise, memory foam, essential oils.”

Max bit into the sandwich, melting from the sheer deliciousness. “I could cry of happiness,” he mumbled, his mouth half full.

/ / / / /

“Zoey,” Mo stopped her, “I don’t want to hear about how your boyfriend can’t chew like a normal person.”

“That’s not the point,” Zoey whined, tossing a pillow at Mo.

“Watch it, Zoey,” Mo retorted, pointing his finger at her before throwing back the pillow, “Okay, continue.”

“Well, then, we walked around the boardwalk at night.”

/ / / / /

Stuffed to their brims, they walked outside, basking in the cool breeze and moonlight.

“It’s weird not seeing you at the desk next to mine,” Zoey revealed, focusing on how warm his hand was in hers, “As manager, I think I’m going to enact a new rule. No one gets that desk, not ever. It’s like when they retire players’ numbers in basketball? Soccer? Football? Sports, you get it.”

“Zoey, it’s not like I’m gone. You see me all the time.” Max put an arm around her shoulder, aware of how, with every breath, her shoulders moved up and down ever so slightly. It made his own breathing start to regulate, matching her own.

Zoey turned to look at him, her curls blowing in front of her face. “Yes, but it’s not the same,” she whined, shoving a hand in her jacket pocket. “I don’t want anyone else sitting across from me.”

She lowered her voice before revealing, “Leif almost moved his stuff to that desk but I distracted him by alerting him that Ava was on her way down, probably looking for fresh meat.”

Max grinned. He did miss the SPRQ Point antics. He was still finding his stride at Flicker, figuring out how to set himself apart from the other coders. It’s weird to not have a best friend in the office, but even more weird not having Zoey there.

A trail of lights passed them by as the trolley zoomed along the street. The soft chatter of night owls and bar-hopping young adults colored the experience. The Golden Gate Bridge took over the skyline.

They walked even further, not even noticing how many steps they had accumulated, though both of their watches buzzed with the 10,000 steps daily milestone to be some indication. Zoey had called him a cheater when he started wearing his new watch from Flicker, instead of his old one from SPRQ Point, but had laughed it off when he called them the “Romeo & Juliet of Silicon Valley.”

They talked about nothing and everything while the night blanketed them both. Zoey was often glad that being with Max only strengthened their friendship. He had more reason to invite her to movications and she had more reason to introduce him to podcasts, even though he did still think it was odd that she would listen to podcasts about the Golden State Killer for fun.

“You’re not like Carol Baskin, you’re not going to kill me and hide the evidence, right?” He had questioned her once.

Her laugh jingled through the room, “No need to worry. And Carol Baskin did not kill her husband!”

Max raised an eyebrow, squinting in suspicion.

/ / / / /

“Zoey, honey, you’re going off track again.” Mo was now onto a face mask. He tilted his head back to ensure that it wouldn’t slide off.

“Right, right, well we ended up right outside the apartment building . . .”

/ / / / /

Max locked his car doors and followed Zoey to her apartment door. He had that silly look in his eyes that made him look both like a lovestruck idiot and a child during the Holidays.

Zoey glanced at him quizzically before fishing the keys out of her pocket and opening up. It really had been the perfect night. It was times like these that she was almost guilty that she hadn’t chosen Max when he revealed his crush in the very beginning. They could’ve had this going for even longer, plus, she was sure her dad would’ve been happy with the progression.

“Text you tomorrow morning?” She asked, looking up at him. Max wasn’t exactly a skyscraper, but at 5’10’’, he easily towered over her 5’2’’ stature.

When he didn’t respond, she continued, “Max?”

That’s when the notes began pouring in. Max walked straight inside her apartment, plopping down on her couch.

**Darling, you might think it's too soon  
But I can't get you out of my head now**

Max walked back up to her, letting his thumb run down her cheek. Zoey let out a laugh, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, ready to take in the show. It was quite the show indeed.

**Picturing myself in your room**

If he wanted to stay the night, he could. He probably knew her apartment better than his own at that point. Plus, she liked how he would always hum in the morning. It reminded her of when she was young and her parents would make fresh pancakes with whipped cream. Music would always be playing in the background, her parents singing along.

**And I wanna be with you 'til I'm dead now**

Zoey’s eyes opened wide. Is Max thinking what she thinks he’s thinking? They’ve only been dating for like six months and the first few weeks of it, they pretty much went into it at a snail’s pace, especially with everything going on.

No, she was too young. She still felt like a kid somehow. Just last week, she was at the dentist’s and she had to call her mom for help filling out the forms.

**I want your friends to be my friends**

She knew Max didn’t have a ton of friends over on this coast. He was from New York, he went to school on the East Coast, and he only came out to the Bay five years ago when he got his position at SPRQ Point. It’s hard making friends without the structure of college.

When it came to entering the daunting world of San Francisco tech, they were one another’s rocks. He didn’t need to worry about her friends being his friends. They already were. Mo even helped dress him before and not to mention all the movie nights the three of them had together.

**I'll make you breakfast in your bed  
I want it all with you**

The breakfast in bed part really stuck out to her. She loved the cereal bar and now the omelet bar, but would it kill SPRQ Point to make the move to waffles? She was going to have to have a talk with the higher ups. Wait, she didn’t even know who presided over the snack bars. That’s a question for another day.

**And if I'm coming on too strong  
It's 'cause I've waited far too long  
For someone just like you**

Max picked her up, spinning her around before placing her on the kitchen stool.

/ / / / /

“Wait, wait, wait. Zoey, if the song happened in your apartment, why did you start the story at the grilled cheese place?” Mo rubbed in some eye cream after discarding the face mask.

“I wanted you to remember the name of the place so you can buy some of that cheese.”

Mo rolled his eyes.

“And if I just went from the cheese place to the apartment, that would leave a whole chunk of the story out. There would be some major continuity problems.”

/ / / / /

**I want a key to your house  
I wanna pick up your clothes  
I wanna clean up your mess**

Max picked up one of the dirty dishes in the sink, crinkling his nose and running some water on it.

“Yeah, I was going to get to that,” Zoey responded, straightening the stack of books on the kitchen island before he could criticize that as well.

**I just wanna stare at your face  
Then spend quality time with your mother**

“Well she loves you already, so that’s not going to be a problem. Sometimes I think she actually likes you more than me. You do the dishes without her having to ask more often than I do.” Zoey shook her head, trying to get the thought out of her mind.

**We can over-drink at your favorite place  
And we can waste the whole next day to recover**

Max held up two wine bottles, pretending to down them. He put them back before sliding into the living room.

“You of all people know that I’m a lightweight. Two drinks in and I’m a goner. I can get Mo if you want to go drinking. That boy can break records.”

Max picked up her phone, tossing it in the air before holding it up to his ear.

**I wanna be your emergency contact**  
**You can put me down**  
**'Cause you know I know you best**

“I think you’re already in there under my mom and David. I think you’re above David but don’t tell him that. He always forgets my birthday so why would I trust him in an emergency situation in which they would need that information? I don’t know why I’m explaining it to you. You’re not going to remember any of this.” Zoey took her phone back, sliding it into her pocket.

**I know, I know it, it feels like love**

Zoey couldn’t help but smile when he looked at her like that. Any girl, or guy, no discrimination, would just melt with one look from him.

**So let's shack up  
I wanna share your address **

/ / / / /

“Now, do you see my dilemma?” Zoey babbled, pulling the blanket over her head.

“What’s the problem? I thought you and Max were going strong,” Mo maintained, not even daring to look at the time. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillow.

“Well, yeah, really strong. We still do all the things we did as best friends - coffee stops, movie nights, texting each other photos of dogs we want to adopt. Everything’s the same, but there’s more kissing involved.”

Mo raised his eyebrow, “More?”

“You know what I mean! There was no kissing before and now it’s just there and it’s nice and he’s sweet and everything’s going swimmingly, but isn’t it all moving too fast?”

He opened one eye, staring her down. “Zoey, if you consider your lovey-dovey boyfriend wanting to move in with you a problem then, girl, do I have some news for you.”

“It’s only been six months, Mo! It once took me even longer to decide what color phone case I wanted.”

“That’s the one you chose?”

Zoey hid her phone under the blanket, “Don’t make me rethink it!”

Mo moved Zoey’s feet so he could sit next to her. “Yes, you’ve only been together for six months or so, but it’s not like the guy was a stranger. He has been your best friend for more than five years now. Zoey, what’s the real problem?” Mo took some of the blanket for himself, pulling it around his legs.

At that point, Zoey sat up, her curls now disheveled and standing up at strange angles. Her voice was soft and meek, as if she didn’t want the words to come out of her mouth. “What if something goes wrong or if he doesn’t like the way I load the dishwasher or how I like to take a bite out of a Kit-Kat instead of breaking off the individual pieces?”

She picked at her nails as she concluded, “What if something goes wrong and I lose him?”

Mo placed a hand on Zoey’s shoulder. “You act like he doesn’t sleep over all the time. I hear you two bickering over You on Netflix and yes, Max is right. The screenwriters are going to have to come back to the jar Joe left at Peaches’ house. Why would they make such a big deal out of it in Season 1? They’ve got something planned.”

Before Mo could get too heated, he slowed down and refocused, “I see how that boy makes you smile and Zoey, just take the leap. I’m all for female empowerment and if he ever messes with you, I’ll be the first one to kick his ass. I have some contacts. Still, if this is the push you need to know that Max is a great guy, let this be it.”

Zoey peeked her head out from under the blanket, listening intently.

“Maybe moving in together will lead to some fights, but you’re both human. Fights over Kit-Kats are not going to crumble your relationship.”

“And you’re sure everything isn’t going to end up going up in flames?” Zoey reached for another cookie, but due to Mo’s stare, she retreated her hand and placed it back in her lap.

“Only one way to find out,” Mo replied, “Wait, I take that back. You’re not talking literally, right? I know you’re bad at cooking but if he’s worse and you end up with a fire in your kitchen, you can be damn sure I’m taking your security deposit to the bank.”

Zoey snuggled into a hug. “Thanks, Mo. You’re right. I’m being silly. I don’t know why my instinctive reaction is always to flee. Thank you for being there for me. I’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep.” Zoey moved to push the blanket off of her, walking towards the door.

“Wait,” Mo said, getting up and following her out, “You never answered me about the cooking. He’s not going to burn down the apartments, right?”

Mo was too late. Zoey was already in her own residence, probably with her head already hitting the pillow.

. . . . . .

It didn’t take Zoey as long to decide to make the leap with Max as it did for her to pick a phone case.

Just a few weeks later, she was back, knocking on his door.

“Max thought you would like copies of the photobooth photos we got at Tournament of Nights.” Zoey handed over the picture. Together, the five of them were cramped in the frame, Zoey practically disappearing among the taller humans. Max was indeed holding a sword. He was right, the ones for sale were clunky. You have to bring your own.

Before Zoey retreated to her own apartment, she called out, “And Mo? Can you help him move? I’m way too short. This Saturday. Thanks. Great. Bye!!!”

Mo really needed to work on boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I really liked writing this one because, with the character of Mo, I was able to get into Zoey's headspace since she usually confides in Mo. Since Mo also knows about Zoey's powers, I was able to write in the first song of the story. For anyone wondering, it's bits and pieces from Ben Platt's "Share Your Address."
> 
> For Pitch Perfect fans, I added a little PP vernacular. It seems like Skylar Astin is always having "movications" with the girls he likes. For those familiar with SF, the grilled cheese place is a real place. Travel articles are a major help in peppering in real locations.
> 
> I also learned how to bold in ao3 so that's fun. Next chapter will be a little departure from the last couple of chapters. It's actually going to be from the POV of someone we haven't met before.
> 
> Leave a comment if you're up to it! Thanks again!


	7. Month 8: Mrs. Richman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max sees his family for the first time in a long time.

It was on hour four of cleaning when she got the text that they were almost there. The piano was dusted, the fridge was full, the towels were washed and folded. She even made sure to have his favorite bagels from the shop down the corner already on the kitchen island. Everything bagel with scallion cream cheese.

Mrs. Richman clasped her hands, sitting down on the couch, staring out the window. She flattened her top and readjusted her bracelets. She straightened the remote controls and fluffed the pillows by her side.

“Max is coming over, not the Queen of England,” Adam mumbled, his eyes glued to his phone. Adam was three years older than Max and never let him forget it. Even though high school was far removed, he would always still bring up leading his team to victory during his last lacrosse match. Somehow, he thought that being a high school athlete was a character trait.

He was a gym rat with a serious addiction to protein shakes and egg white omelets. He certainly had an affinity for toeing the line between the appropriate and the inappropriate, and more often than not, his jokes fell on the wrong side.

Adam’s thick New York accent made every sentence drip with prolonged “aw” sounds and the dropping of hard “g’s.” Not the smartest of beasts, he had left community college early before getting his degree, deciding to help with his father’s construction business instead. Adam’s ideal Friday night included downing a couple of beers and watching the game with his friends in the finished basement.

“He hasn’t been back in years,” Mrs. Richman, or Rachel, responded, running the tassel of a blanket through her fingers.

She turned to Adam before warning, “Be nice to your brother.” 

“You always do this, Ma,” Adam finally looked up from his phone, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, “You treat him like this angel child.”

Rachel snapped, “Because you and your father treat him like a burden.” She wouldn’t hear another word of it. 

Adam huffed, not fast enough to conjure up a retort.

And with that, a distinctive taxi cab rolled across the gravel driveway, the sounds of the crunched rocks reverberating throughout the living room. Rachel quickly stood up, rushing to open the front door.

As she watched him get out of the car, she tried to think back to the last time he was home. She tried to do the math in her head. Four years in Boston for undergraduate, one for graduate. Two months between graduating and moving out to the Bay for SPRQ Point and five years since then. He hadn’t been home for all of those five years. 

She often set a place for him at the table during holidays, much to her husband’s annoyance. “He’s not coming, Rachel, you would know,” was the usual line. It was silly of her to think, but she wished Max would walk through that door, a smile on his face and his nose all red from the New York cold like it used to be when he decided to walk home from school years prior.

He called sporadically, usually on birthdays and holidays, sometimes randomly, but never to his brother or father specifically. John Richman was definitely a little rough around the edges. 

Max’s father’s wardrobe consisted of flannels, worn-in jeans, and baseball caps. He had a few simple pleasures - Mets games, keeping their lawn nicer than their neighbor’s, and his loyalty card from Ace Hardware. 

When John was a much younger man, he took on the family business. It was pretty backbreaking work, but it certainly paid the bills. Working construction in NY, especially the city, was by no means the safest profession, but companies were willing to pay hand and foot to have some more daring individuals strap on a few hard hats and get to work.

John took care of his family, putting food on the table and sometimes spontaneously bringing home flowers for Rachel. His love language was gifts and once they had been dating for a couple of months, she had realized that although he would never write long cards for her birthdays or do some grand, romantic gesture, he would make sure that they were provided for. Always.

Nevertheless, one of his greatest flaws was his ego. Max didn’t help with that, especially when he got into college. It was Max’s senior year of high school, a few weeks after he got accepted to MIT. They were sitting at the dining room table, Max doing homework and John working on finances for the company. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” John had murmured to Rachel, running a hand through his hair, his pencil tapping on the wood. 

Max looked up from his calculus. “I could look at it,” he suggested.

With a scoff, John had replied, “Oh, you think you’re so smart just because you got into that school.”

“John,” Rachel had hissed, trying to dissipate the growing tension.

There were many instances of that, of short jabs, of John trying to dismiss Max due to his own insecurities about his intelligence and lack of a formal education. 

Adam was either too wrapped up in himself to care, or he just liked being the golden boy in his father’s eyes, especially in a time when his friends were graduating college with established degrees and bright futures and he was still living in his parents’ house, in the same town that he had always known.

The immediate tension did cool over the next couple of years as Max left to go to college, far away from the conflict of his family. Even John seemed to get on board when Max declared a Structural Engineering concentration. 

It seemed like John had plans of his own.

Although he never spoke about it much, Rachel could tell that John was certain that Max would return after graduation, using his new degree to revitalize the company and take on more difficult projects. 

She often wondered if this delusion came from his own blindness to the toll his constant retorts had on his relationship with his son, or if it was some unspoken family loyalty thread that was so deeply ingrained in John’s psyche. 

He even had matching business cards made. 

And it was good for a time, great even. 

At some points, Rachel even thought Max might go through with his father’s plan. They talked shop together and for the first time in a long time, she caught them throwing a ball around in the backyard. 

It all came crashing down when Max found a new love for computer science, switching his major completely and taking up a job in the Bay. It had been nothing but tension since then. She’s not sure if John had ever forgiven Max. She’s not sure if Max ever thought there was something to forgive. It was his life and his choice. Plus, Adam was there to help with the company.

Rachel didn’t think Max and his father spoke in the last 5 years in anything but polite one-liners and general birthday cards.

That’s why it was so surprising that Max called a few weeks ago asking if he could come visit for the last day of Hanukkah that year, with a girl. He reasoned that with her work schedule and his, they only had the weekend off, so it was really going to be in and out.

Rachel wasn’t technologically inept. She followed Max’s Instagram, even if she didn’t comment. The mysterious girl wasn’t too mysterious if you followed Max on social media. Zoey Clarke made regular appearances now and had been making regular appearances for the last five years.

Most recently, there was a picture of Max and what she assumed to be Zoey’s family at a dinner table, a turkey in the middle and Thanksgiving decorations blurred in the background. She recognized the faces from his other posts.

A few years ago there was an Insta story at a backyard barbeque, an older man showing Max how to grill burgers. The redheaded girl laughed as Max took over the camera, showing her chowing down. “Max,” she had protested, “I’m eating.”

She would never admit it to the other mothers in the neighborhood circle, but she found out that he switched companies because of an Instagram post, not because he had told her. It was a picture of him and the girl, a lazy arm swung around her shoulder.

Him, clad in a red, Flicker Tech. tee, and her in a SPRQ Point one, they smiled together, holding up paintings. She could vaguely make out that his was a sailboat. The girl’s on the other hand - was she going for impressionist? 

He came out of the taxi smiling, the remnants of a laugh. 

“Zoey, I bet 10 to 1 that Tobin isn’t on a cruise ship to the Maldives as his Instagram suggests. He’s probably just on a boat tour of the Bay.” Max went to the back of the cab and grabbed their bags, Zoey exiting quickly thereafter.

She was in an emerald green sweatshirt and leggings, normal airport attire. It was nice to see her in person rather than seeing her on Max’s Instagram as she had over the years. 

Max looked the same as he always did, that childish smile peeking through. 

“You’re probably right. He’s been watching Catfish recently when he’s supposed to be working.” Zoey grabbed her suitcase from him, tossing her backpack over her shoulder, “Wait.” With one hand, Zoey zoomed in on the photo on her phone. “Gotcha,” she concluded, “You can see the Golden Gate Bridge way in the upper right corner.” 

Max chuckled.

Rachel caught her son’s gaze as he got to the top of the stairs.

“Hi, Mom,” he acknowledged, placing the suitcase at his feet and giving her a hug, “Long time no see. This is Zoey.”

The girl in front of her gave a little wave. “Hi, Mrs. Richman. Thanks for letting me crash your holiday.” She held out a hand, which Rachel promptly shook.

Rachel just smiled, “Please, it’s Rachel and we’re so glad you did. Oh, come in. I can give you the grand tour.”

“You’ve finally returned,” Adam piped up, getting up from his chair, “We were starting to think we should turn your room into a gym.”

“Zoey, Adam,” Max introduced. With that name, Zoey’s eyes lit up in recognition. Rachel could see her mentally put the pieces together. 

“Nice to meet you,” Zoey responded, curtly. She definitely knew something about the family dynamics. 

Max put a hand on her back and led her towards the kitchen. It was a modest two story with a suitable kitchen and an open patio with an obligatory grill. There were three decently sized bedrooms upstairs, although Max’s keyboard took up most of the room in his. 

Rachel tried to make everything feel normal, like it was just Max visiting for the holidays, not that this was the first time she was seeing her son face to face in years. Even though they were only going to be around for a weekend, she was overjoyed. 

Zoey and Max dumped their stuff in his old room, still with unfinished lego structures on the desk and old homework notebooks stacked on his shelves. 

“I never pegged you for a Taylor Swift guy,” Zoey laughed, picking up the CD from his dresser. 

Max took it from her, placing it back in its rightful location, “Hey, don’t judge. I was in my guitar phase and those songs aren’t too hard for beginners.”

Zoey rolled her eyes, skimming over all the framed photos peppered across his dresser. 

Rachel couldn’t help but smile seeing her son back at home and most importantly, happy. She knew that he loved his life back on the West Coast, but this was the first time she was getting a real peek into the effortless joy that came with it. 

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Rachel suggested, entering the hallway once more, “I can put together some food. Your father should be home soon. I’m sure you’re famished after the flight.” 

Zoey offered a polite smile as Max added a “Thank you.” 

Sure enough, John Richman entered the house not twenty minutes later, his clothes still caked with concrete dust and dried dirt.

“They’re here,” Rachel mentioned, offering John a freshly cleaned shirt from on top of the washer to which he waved off.

She walked up the stairs, turning the corner to see Max at the piano and Zoey sitting next to him, tinkering with some of the legos.

Max played a little ditty and Rachel couldn’t help but be brought back to all those years of his childhood when he would come upstairs and play instead of getting involved in the family drama.

When Max looked up from the keys, seeing Rachel in the doorway, he added, “She likes to build stuff. Don’t let her near the microwave.” Zoey laughed as she hit his chest, placing the legos back where they were. They both got up and followed Rachel down.

They passed by Adam and John, watching a football game in progress. 

“He’s not going to say anything?” Max questioned, grabbing a bagel from the counter. 

At the sound of his voice, John turned around. “Max,” he acknowledged, “You look good. SF is treating you well I assume.” It was polite and even if disingenuous, it was something.

“And this is Zoey,” Rachel introduced, gesturing to the girl who was about to take a bite out of a bagel Max was holding up for her.

“Nice to meet you, Zoey,” Mr. Richman offered and Zoey nodded back, her mouth too full of bagel to audibly respond.

“God, this is delicious,” Zoey turned to Max, taking the piece from him.

“Told you,” Max responded, grabbing another one, “Nothing like a NY bagel.”

The next few hours were relatively uneventful. Max told her about Hanukkah and how the eighth day is so special. He gestured to the menorah and went through the story that he was told since he was little.

She played dreidel with Max and his mom, winning herself a small collection of chocolate coins. 

“Beginner’s luck,” Max teased, popping a piece of chocolate in his own mouth. In the background, John and Adam continued watching the game, sometimes speaking out if the ref made a questionable call.

She helped flip latkes and filled up on brisket like the rest of them. 

“This is the best brisket I’ve ever had!” Zoey had complimented, taking another bite, melting from the sheer richness.

“Zoey, this is the first brisket you’ve ever had,” Max corrected, sliding another latke onto his plate, dipping it in applesauce before taking a bite.

At that, Zoey had scrunched up her nose, nothing to argue. “Still the best,” she got the last word in.

Dinner had gone smoothly. Zoey was charming and Max looked at her like she was the most important thing in his world. It was at times like these that made Rachel feel woeful, knowing that she was such a distant part of his life. He had his own friends in SF, a girlfriend and her family, a career. 

Adam had been fine, spending most of dinner digging into his food rather than contributing to the conversation.

John had been cordial, even though Zoey, Max, and Rachel primarily guided the conversation.

Following dinner, Zoey insisted on helping Rachel clean while pushing Max to go watch the game downstairs in the basement. Even Rachel knew that Max wasn’t the biggest sports guy.  
Even when Max whined, “Zoey’s don’t make me,” Zoey didn’t let up and pushed her boyfriend downstairs to at least be in the same vicinity as his brother and father.

“How’s he doing?” Rachel blurted out a few minutes after they started working. She let curiosity get the best of her.

Zoey wiped her hands on the dish towel, leaning against the kitchen island. “He’s doing well. I think he’s finally hitting his rhythm at his new job. He’s been really getting into cooking much to our landlord’s dismay. He thinks Max is going to burn down the apartments, but it honestly might be worth it now that I no longer am eating so many microwavable meals. He’s obsessed with the Bon Appetit Test Kitchen. He even bought an apron and everything.”

Rachel smiled, remembering how Max used to try to make dinners some nights and one time he caught a napkin on fire that was too close to the stove.

“Are you close with your family, Zoey?” Rachel questioned, putting some dishes away. 

“So much so that it’s almost a little bit creepy,” she joked as she went to grab some dirty silverware off the table, “They’re pretty much some of my best friends.”

“You’re very lucky to have them,” Rachel responded with a smile, running water over the silverware.

With that, two raised voices echoed from the basement, one of them Max’s and the other, his father’s. 

Rachel excused herself, “I better go check on them.” Zoey nodded, turning on the faucet to clean the cast iron dutch oven. 

The yelling got louder and louder as she walked down, closing the basement door behind her in a last ditch effort to protect Zoey from the ills of the Richman family.

“What is going on down here?” Rachel put herself between the men, shutting off the TV.

“It was going fine until he asked me how my job was going and I said I made manager a few weeks ago. He proceeded to say that I should get a man’s job, where I have to get my hands dirty - like Adam.”

Rachel looked towards her husband for any explanation, even though she knew that he wouldn’t have one.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. Max just sits around all day playing video games on his computer. Adam told me he saw a new piece on those tech companies. They have meditation rooms and omelet bars, sleep pods and office swings. It’s like we sent him to five years of college just for him to end up in a child’s career.”

At that, Max just had to straight up laugh. “You don’t even know what I do at all. You always praise Adam while bashing me. I don’t know why I thought this time would be any different,” Max barked, standing up from the couch.

“Get over it already! Sometimes family has to give you some tough love.” John remained seated.

“What family?” Max scoffed. “I’m closer with Zoey’s family than with you,” his fight or flight response coming into play. He used to just ignore it, to go with the flow and accept the offenses. 

Rachel probably shouldn’t be surprised that he was no longer the scared kid who took everything without hitting back. Plus, Max was an adult and he was secure in himself. He had his own life and he had seen a family dynamic that was better than the one he had grown up with. 

“I don’t know why I tried,” Max confessed, turning on his heel and going back upstairs.

“Why are you so hard on him?” Rachel interjected, “I just wanted everything to be okay. It didn’t have to be great and you didn’t have to work everything out, but I just wanted this to go well.” Rachel put a hand on her forehead, taking a deep breath. 

“He’s your son,” she continued, ready to air out what had been bubbling up for years, “Why do you hate him so much? Don’t you remember how your own father treated you?”

And with that, John interrupted, “How could I forget?”

When it was clear that Rachel wasn’t going to continue the conversation, John spoke. “He was a monster to me for my whole childhood and then he just left and never looked back. He was an asshole.” 

“How do you think Max feels about you?” she snapped.

“Oh, so what if I made fun of him here and there, he just needs to grow up.”

“John, he did. You didn’t. Every comment is a correction, every sentence is a thinly veiled insult. You hated how he wasn’t like you, how he would rather go to Broadway shows on his birthday than a baseball game, how he was in Math Olympiads instead of lacrosse, how he excelled academically while you didn’t make it through high school.”

John’s jaw jutted out, his eyes darkening. “That was too far and you know it.”

Rachel didn’t apologize or back down. She held firm and spoke her mind, doing what she should have been doing all along. “You’re a bully to him for no reason.”

John’s expression hardened, “Why are you protecting him? Maxwell left. He doesn’t get to just return, acting like everything is fine and dandy.”

“Max left because you drove him away,” Rachel insisted, twisting the stem of the wine glass in her hands. Rachel let the words sink in before continuing. She knew by the way his shoulders drooped that she had broken through the walls, hurt him just enough to make him see reality for what it was.

“Your father left you. He was cold and uncaring and strict, and right now, you two couldn’t be more similar. But it’s not too late, you don’t have to be like that anymore,” she offered, “He’s right upstairs. Why would he come back if he didn’t want to fix things with you? Talk to him. This might be your last chance.”

John got up from his chair, grabbing the banister and walking up the stairs. At that moment she wasn’t sure what was going to happen, if he was going to make things as right as they could be, or close himself right back up. Whatever the case, she followed him, shutting the basement door on her way up, Adam still texting on his phone downstairs.

Max was sitting on the couch, staring at the fireplace roaring, Zoey’s head snuggled into his chest, drawing circles with her pointer finger on his palm. 

When she heard them approach, she lifted her head, instead holding Max’s hand in her own.

If you weren’t listening carefully, you probably wouldn’t be able to hear it. With an exhale, John uttered, “I’m sorry.” 

With that, Max’s eyes lifted from staring at Zoey’s hand clasped in his own.

Before John lost momentum, he continued, “I don’t hate you and I don’t want you to think that. You know, I didn’t finish high school not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. My dad didn’t give a choice.”

He let out a brief laugh, “You know, I wanted to be a chef? To wear one of those white hats and run around the kitchen like Gordon Ramsey. I wasn’t given a choice and I didn’t give you one, but you chose anyway. You went off to do what you love. I do the work that I do not because I love it, but because it’s the life that was given to me.”

“Dad . . .” Max interrupted.

“Let me finish.” John took a deep breath, “And now look at you. You’re successful. You have a life, you somehow found another family that obviously cares about you.”

Max raised an eyebrow. He never mentioned spending time with the Clarke family.

“Your mother has an Instagram account. Don’t question it. Besides the point. Look, Maxwell, you’ve always been smart, smarter than your brother and smarter than me. I’ll never say that out loud again. I couldn’t help you with math when you were in 7th grade for heaven’s sake. I didn’t want to drop out of high school, but I knew that I wasn’t smart enough to go to college. I was mad, yes, that you went off to college when those weren’t even in the cards for me.”

John pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. “And then when you declared your major, I thought you and I had something and we were going to go into business together, but then you just switched up your major. You gave up on the business. You left and never came back. I know you didn’t owe me anything, and you changed your major because your interests changed, but it hurt. And I know that this doesn’t excuse my behavior over the years and it’s not going to make everything okay, but I want you to know that I don’t hate you. How could I? You’re my son.”

John took a seat, folding his hands in his lap, “My father was cruel and unforgiving and I never want to make you feel like he made me feel. I let jealousy get the best of me for years and you never deserved any of it.”

Max’s expression softened as he took in every word that he had been waiting for his father to say to him for years upon years. 

After a beat, he revealed, “You know, it wasn’t my idea to come in in the first place. Zoey pushed me to call.” Max looked at her for reassurance as she squeezed his hand. “When the holidays started to come around, and she noticed that like always, I was going to spend all the holidays with her family, she told me that she would give anything for another moment with her father and she’s right.”

Max turned his body towards John, looking directly in his eyes, “And even with all our history, I didn’t want to have to lose you without fixing whatever this is.”

“I really am sorry,” John returned, putting a hand on the arm of the chair.

Max took his own hand and placed it on his father’s. “I know.”

There were a few prolonged moments of silence before Rachel offered gently, “Max, why don’t you play some holiday songs for us?” 

Max nodded, getting up to grab his guitar. Rachel could’ve sworn she heard Zoey mutter, “As long as it’s not ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.’”

It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t close to what it could be, but it was something, and that’s all Rachel could’ve hoped for during this holiday season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one was a doozy to write and it's the most serious chapter of the whole story. There was a point in the show that Max tells Zoey that he doesn't have the same relationship with his family that she has with hers. This was my take on that.
> 
> I'm still reworking the general direction of the story, but next one will probably be much shorter with more Clarkeman moments. 
> 
> Comments are so very appreciated!


	8. Month 9: Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn returns to the Golden Gate Grind

She had been working at the Aquarium of the Bay for just over 3 months when she was fired. She had loved her job, feeding the fishes, talking about the wonders of the sea, and pretending she was in The Little Mermaid every single day. 

Unlike humans, animals never got tired of her singing “Under the Sea,” on constant repeat. 

Her work was exciting and beautiful and all she could ever want. Plus, when she talked to the sea lions for hours on end, they never complained. 

She has always liked to stare at the ocean, but she liked to stare at the tanks in the aquarium even more, which she hadn’t thought possible.

That’s why it felt like her heart hit the floor when she was fired. It was a pretty normal week. She had only slipped once while trying to navigate all the feeding areas above the tanks. Even though she is a runner, clumsiness was a constant threat.

It happened on a Friday, which was her favorite day because it meant she got to lead the Yoga with the Sharks program. Early morning sun salutations in the pathway under the largest tank in the aquarium - what could be better?

Her boss had assigned her the coveted position because she often talked about that type of stuff: new exercises, different types of milk (oat, almond, rice, goat, you name it), immune-boosting ginger shots, all natural CBD oil and hemp-infused hair gel, which she had given to Max. 

Max, she hated even thinking about that name. She wanted to scorch it from her memory.

Anyways, yoga was kind of on-brand for Autumn. It was all going well that fateful Friday morning until she saw this beautiful fish that she had never seen before. It was a mid-sized creature with a splattering of colors surrounding its body and long fins that floated around it like sheets in the wind. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

And this was coming from a girl who had once stared at the ocean for seven hours straight.

The thing about Autumn is that she often hyper-fixates. She once played skee ball for four hours by herself after a birthday party just so she could see her name appear on the scoreboard. When she was a child, she hyper-fixated on Annie and performed the entire musical front to back on a road trip from her hometown of Minneapolis to her parent’s cabin two hours away. It was every single word, even the other characters. It got tricky when she was playing every orphan simultaneously.

During that yoga class, she couldn’t help but hyper-fixate. She knew that new fish were going to be moved into the tanks sometime that week, but seeing one of them in person, she couldn’t believe that something that beautiful lived on Earth. 

The problem was, she had told the class to get into child's pose. There was soft, classical music playing in the background. It was dark enough that it felt relaxing, like a meditation room or an Abercrombie. 

She had later heard from her boss that some people fell asleep during the class and some people were internally fuming but didn’t say anything because this was their first time doing the program and they hadn’t learned the ropes yet. 

In any case, she hardly noticed that there were thirty minutes between when she told the class to get into that pose and when she finally realized that she had been looking at that fish for a tad too long. 

By then, it was pretty obvious that she did something wrong. It was almost a given that she was reprimanded and ultimately let go by her boss. 

“Autumn,” he had said, “You’re a great employee and I know you love your job. You just have to do it.”

Three months later and she was back at the Golden Gate Grind, job application in hand. 

She had liked working there, and for now, that was enough. Still, she was sad that if she decided to randomly burst into song, the customers would notice and that probably wouldn’t be ideal. 

Sunday morning, she entered the familiar coffee shop, apron in hand, a smile plastered on her face. It was her first shift back and she was going to be sure not to mess it up. 

Autumn had thought she would be safe. Max and Zoey had stopped coming to the Golden Gate Grind after she had snapped at him, which she was still proud of herself for doing. For Heaven’s sake, she wanted him to meet her parents and he broke up with her. Their intentions couldn’t have been further apart.

It was pretty brutal and then he had the nerve to act like everything was fine, which it was not. Ugh she hated him and his stupid face.

That morning, the first day back at work, it was like another punch in the gut. She had gone to the backroom to get some more pastries from the oven and when she turned to head back, she caught the two of them in the front of the line. 

He was gazing at the menu while she ordered. They were laughing at something. Autumn scoffed, wishing something bad would happen to him. Not anything serious, but if she willed it into existence, she wanted the coffee to burn his tongue or the seat he chose to have a coffee spill on it that he didn’t realize was there until he sat down.

She couldn’t believe they had the audacity to come back. Someone must’ve told them she no longer worked there.

Autumn was about to reveal herself from behind the door frame, speaking her mind once again and telling them to never return, but her coworker had put a hand on her shoulder before she could do so.

“Autumn, don’t,” Maya cautioned, seeing that crazed look in her eyes, “They’re regulars and with that new matcha place down the street, we need to keep as many regulars as we can.”

“Can’t I just spit in his muffin,” she whined before heading back to the Employees Only section of the coffee shop, agreeing to hide until the two of them left.

She had thought it was going to be a one-time thing, but she forgot how many times the two of them got coffee. It was a little concerning.

And that’s how her routine came to be so that whenever her coworkers would see Max or Zoey approaching the entrance, they would alert her. She would roll her eyes but make her way to the backroom, away from sight. She would often peek her head out from behind the door frame, to continuously check if the coast was clear.

It usually wasn’t and she learned why soon enough. They were now fans of taking their time in the coffee shop. They used to just order and go.

“I think my boss has started to notice that when I leave to get coffee, it’s more of a coffee hour than a coffee break,” Max laughed, pulling apart the muffin. “You know, we don’t both have it good. I’m now nervous anytime I have to get up to use the bathroom, thinking that people will start to catch on that I’m taking a ton of breaks. With Joan gone, you’re free to take as many breaks as you want.”

Zoey grabbed a handful of blueberry crumbs. “It’s not all sunshine and rainbows.” She smiled, “but it is pretty nice not having someone always watching you, lovingly, but still always right there.”

“How is she doing now that she’s been practically running SPRQ Point ever since they found Danny Michael Davis’ harddrive in his sister’s basement?”

Zoey blew on her latte before taking a sip. “She’s good. She texted me a picture of herself doing a sales pitch in a yurt in Russia then at a tea house in Japan. I don’t really know what she does, but she’s doing it whatever the case. It’s weird not having a floor manager, but no one has taken on the role. She sometimes sends the floor videos of her yelling to get back to work, so it’s kinda like she hasn’t even left.”

“How’s Flicker?” Zoey looked up from her coffee, placing the stirrer on the napkin by her side. Her drink had turned to a nice golden brown color rather than straight black.

Max picked at the cardboard of the coffee sleeve. “It’s fine. It’s good. It’s okay.”

“Say it one more time and I’ll believe you,” Zoey assured.

Max took a deep breath, “It’s nice to manage people and everyone’s kind, but management holds the reins too tightly. If they don’t give us any leeway, we’re just mildly sleep-deprived, coding automatons. There’s no room for any creativity.”

Zoey listened to every word intently before responding, “Do you think you’re going to stay there?”

“Yeah,” Max responded. 

When she gave him a quizzical look, he elaborated, “I can’t put myself up to applying for jobs now. You know how long it took me to get this gig. Maybe in a couple of months or so if it doesn’t get any better. Right now, it’s fine. Plus, we have some serious SPRQ Point butt to kick at the next field day.”

Any weight of the conversation lifted and Zoey stole the last bite of muffin, before grabbing her stuff.

“Can’t we just stay a little longer?” Max didn’t get up to gather his belongings. “When we leave this door, I’m not going to see you for what?” Max checked his watch, “six more hours.” He gasped at the thought of it.

“A couple more than that,” Zoey added, not helping the situation, “There’s this bug in the watch that has to be patched by tonight.”

Max whined dramatically. “But Zoeyyyy. Wait, how about I meet you after I’m done? I can hang around the office, sit on the swings, and steal La Croix from the fridge.”

“I’m sure sirens would go off if you step onto campus. Security can smell Flicker employees from miles away.”

At that, Max looked mildly offended. “You forget, Security Guard Jack and I are tight.” He twisted his pointer and middle finger together for emphasis.

“We don’t have a guard named Jack. You mean Jerry?”

Max sheepishly nodded. 

“Stay,” he pleaded, admitting defeat.

“One more muffin, but you’re paying,” she responded, dropping her backpack on the seat next to her.

So they were now at different companies. Interesting. Autumn wouldn’t call it spying exactly. She would rather call it I-have-nothing-to-do-because-I’m-stuck-hiding-out-and-they-always-sit-in-the-back-so-it’s-even-harder-to-tune-them-out-when-they-are-sitting-not-20-feet-away.

Zoey and Max didn’t always come in at the same time anymore. Sometimes just Zoey would come in, settling down before putting on some headphones and staring out the window at passerbys. 

There would be moments when Max would arrive alone, on a call with God knows who. He would say words like “bandwidth” and “CPU,” “Processor” and “Boolean.” As far as Autumn was concerned, he was speaking a different language.

Sometimes they would both come in and work in comfortable silence, both with what looked like true hacker code on their screens. It looked like those movies where the computer techies would type away for one minute and then would gain total control over the entire building's security system.

To be honest, Autumn’s not really sure what they did. Max had tried to explain it for a time, but it fell on deaf ears. 

Her mind wasn’t equipped to handle all that coding jargon.

One time, Max had asked her what she would do if she could have any job she ever wanted. She had said she wasn’t sure. She liked the coffee shop.

Some people were okay with not being a big CEO, or in Zoey’s and Max’s case, employees of the biggest tech companies in the world. Autumn liked learning new latte art and rolling out cookies before they would go in the oven. She liked the scent of coffee that blanketed the business and the way the delivery guys knew her by name.

Looking back on it now, Autumn and Max were probably on two completely different trajectories. He wanted to rise up while she was fine staying stagnant.

And so, over the next couple of weeks, she would hide away behind the door frame. Max and Zoey decided that the table closest to the backroom was their table, which didn’t help the situation. Autumn always awkwardly ended up hiding out, hearing their conversations.

She often wished for a friendship like theirs, but she would never admit it. She remembered the first time they came to the coffee shop years ago.

If he didn’t look like a zombie and her hair wasn’t sticking up ten different ways, she probably wouldn’t have noticed them. It was the middle of the night. She was about to close up shop when they walked in, eyes-bloodshot from sleep deprivation.

“2 coffees,” Zoey ordered, leaning against the counter. Autumn was sure that Zoey would’ve fallen asleep in that spot if she stayed there one second too long.

“One shot . . .” Zoey looked at Max for confirmation. He held up two fingers. “Two shots of espresso each.”

Autumn went to ring them up, but stopped herself, “Are you sure? To be honest, it looks like you guys need some sleep.”

Max thrust his card at her, his eyes pleading.

Zoey articulated the necessity. “We have to finish a project at work that needs to be done before tomorrow’s workday starts and the update is released.”

“The only option is mutual self-destruction,” Max confided while taking back his card and stuffing it into his wallet.

Autumn nodded, getting their coffees ready and throwing in some complimentary baked goods. She was going to throw them out anyway since they weren’t purchased that day and by tomorrow they would be rock hard.

With a ‘thank you,’ they both had left, no doubt going straight back to work, wherever that was.

Now, years and years later, they were still doing the same things. They would often come in close to closing, looking like they could fall asleep at a moment’s notice.

The best of friends. It was almost nice. It would be a lie to say that she didn’t envy their friendship. 

They were always doing sweet things for one another. Max would wordlessly get up to retrieve their coffees and Zoey would grab their usual table, wiping it down if it wasn’t clean. He would hold the door open while she would whip out extra metal straws just in case. He always ordered a pastry and would never complain when she would swipe a few (or more) bites.

They were cute. The bestest of buds.

She hated to admit it, but even Max was sweet. 

That’s why, on one fateful summer day, Autumn almost flew out of her chair when she saw him lean down and give her a quick kiss before heading off. To hell with best buddies, they were dating. Max was the devil.

Just when she thought it was going to be okay and she was getting used to seeing him in HER coffee shop again, well, she didn’t own it but she likes to claim it as her turf, he went and did that. 

It shouldn’t have been a real surprise. It almost felt bound to happen, some next level written-in-the-stars astrology shit. That trite friends-to-lovers trope that she liked to read about in stories. But now that it was happening in real life, she wanted to punch them both.

At first, she had wanted to march right up there and throw a coffee in his face, but then she took a few deep breaths and relaxed. If life was a cartoon, you would be able to see smoke fuming out of her ears. 

How could she be that stupid? It was always going to be Zoey. She hated Zoey and her stupid collared shirts and big eyes. Wait, that was a lie. She thought the ginger looked really cute in them.

Autumn wished she could hate the girl, but she couldn’t. Zoey had always been sweet to her. Autumn could hate Zoey for being too nice then. 

She never thought her anger towards the two would ever cease, but she was proved wrong.

It happened on a Thursday when she was manning the register. 

“Can you take a picture of me,” a man about her age asked. He was clad in a backwards baseball cap and a hooded sweatshirt - business attire of Silicon Valley. For a second she thought she recognized him, but it was almost impossible to remember everyone she’s met over the last couple of years. From all the coffee shop customers to all the visitors at the aquarium, she had given up on remembering most people.

“No problem,” Autumn responded, taking his phone from him. He positioned himself in just the right fashion, tilting his head to the right while holding the coffee out like he was about to take a sip.

“Portrait mode, please,” he asked, still in his chosen pose, only his mouth moving. She snapped a few shots before handing the phone back.

“Awww sweet. That’s mad good. My followers are going to go nuts, like Taylor Swift and Kanye West’s feud level nuts. Props to you, . . .,” he looked at her name tag, “Autumn. I’m Tobin, nice to meet you. I can give you photo creds if you want, just say the word. We’re all in that followers game. You help me out, I help you out. Here, type in your username.”

He handed her back his phone and she obliged, typing in her handle. When she saw that he had 45 followers, she arched an eyebrow. Her Instagram account dedicated to the birds she sees near the ocean has more followers.

Tobin continued, “I don’t have a ton of followers, but this is only the start for me. By the end of the year, I’m going to one of those high-end influencers, not the ones selling miracle weight-loss gummies and strange teas. I’m talking the big leagues like being one of those Youtubers trying to convince people to subscribe to Audible even though we know no one is ever going to remember to read books when you have Netflix on your phone. Ooo, or a FabFitFun ambassador. I can rock a mean Kate Spade lunch box.”

“Oh My God,” Autumn exclaimed, taking a seat, “I love FabFitFun! Been a loyal fan since the beginning. It’s so much stuff for such a good price! And I’m so indecisive so I don’t have to worry about picking out stuff at the store. I used to buy three different shampoos because I couldn’t decide between volume, hydration, or sheen.”

Tobin’s energy rose to match Autumn’s. “I know! It’s literally impossible. Lit-ter-ally. I once used five different face washes because all of them got the highest reviews in Men’s Health and Esquire. My friend was like ‘that’s too much, dude,’ but I was like, ‘you sometimes have to risk it to get the biscuit.’” 

Tobin leaned closer to her from across the table.

“I get FabFitFun just for the skincare stuff and I give the rest to my sister. I get some amazing toners while she thinks I’m the best brother in the world. My million dollar idea . . .” He leaned even closer so he could whisper in her ear, “I’m going to make one for men. I’m thinking shades, colognes, and snapbacks. Plus, I think everyone needs a good murse. It’s a . . .”

“Man purse,” Autumn completed his sentence.

“I like you,” Tobin replied, and Autumn couldn’t help but smile.

He did give her photo creds and when she commented on his post, he slid into her DMs the next day.

It started off innocent with pictures of the newest shoes he wanted after seeing them worn by Lebron James. She messaged him pictures of the trail she would take on her morning runs. He would come in for coffee more frequently and she would always put a little heart on his coffee sleeve. 

One day, when they were shopping at an outdoor mall - him for some new snapbacks to go well with spring florals, her for the newest Taylor Swift vinyl - he posted a picture of the two of them, calling her the best gal in the world, even sicker than Beyonce, his Lord and savior. Her heart somersaulted out of her chest. 

They officially started dating the week after and they’ve been inseparable ever since. She would go on morning jogs and he would ride next to her on a scooter, blasting “Eye of the Tiger.” They went to Disneyland on a fluke trip and they wore matching Mickey ears and took enough pictures to fill up her phone storage. He even tried all her crazy coffee concoctions, even doing Insta lives to broadcast a taste test for his ‘fans.’

“You know, if I hadn’t seen the Golden Gate Grind on TimeOut San Francisco’s article about the best Insta-worthy coffee spots, we never would’ve met,” Tobin said while trying a boba flavored coffee she was in the process of inventing. 

He winched slightly at the taste but reassured, “Needs a bit of work, but it’s better than the macaroon mocha. I have no doubt you’ll kill it on the next one.”

He hopped off the counter and gave her a fist bump.

She had never met anyone who’s enthusiasm matched her own. She was even invited to a game night with him and his best friend, Leif. She knew that she had made it into the little group when she dominated them in Super Mario Party. She had a lot of practice growing up with her brother.

It was going so well that she even started to forget He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, well, until that morning.

She was dusting the shelves and pushing in chairs when she saw Tobin approach the store, snapback in hand and shades in the other. He had once told her that it was the exact pair that Chris Hemsworth had worn in a Vanity Fair cover.

She rushed over the door to greet him, but trailing behind him were the two people she never wanted to see again.

“Autumn!” Tobin greeted her, pulling her into a hug. She saw both Zoey’s and Max’s eyes grow three times at the interaction.

“I was just going to stop by to say hello before work when I ran into these two. This is Max and Zoey,” Tobin pointed them out.

He whispered to her, “They’re not on my Instagram because he dresses like a third-grader and she’s my boss but a pain to work with. She makes us write in journals like we are in 7th grade English.”

Max stifled a laugh and Zoey scrunched her nose. “We can hear you, Tobin,” Zoey pointed out.

Tobin grumbled, “Maybe I wanted you to hear that. Maybe I wanted you to realize that the whole journal thing is pointless. Maybe I wanted you to finally treat us like full-grown adults.” Tobin crossed his arms, vaguely resembling Autumn’s five-year-old cousin.

Zoey rolled her eyes before her gaze turned to Autumn. Her voice softened as she lent the blonde a smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Autumn smiled politely, “Likewise.”

Tobin, not aware of any residual tension, perked up. “Autumn made this new blend yesterday. It’s a must-try. French Toast Frappuccino. It’s a caramel pump away from a heart attack in a paper cup, but worth every drop. I swear, one day she’s going to own every coffee shop in SF.”

Autumn blushed as she shook her head, “Aww. It’s nothing, just something I like to do for fun.”

“I’d love to try it,” Max offered, extending a metaphorical olive branch.

Before she could even start to conceive a plan of attack, Tobin swung his arm around her shoulders and started walking inside the coffee shop.

“Guys, how many croissants do you think could fit in my murse? I bet a solid five, six if you account for a little smush.” 

Tobin turned his head when he heard footsteps pattering away. “Guys?”

Max and Zoey were halfway to their car when they stopped in their tracks. “We have, uh. . .” Max looked at Zoey.

“Work,” Zoey said while Max said, “Cook,” at the same time. Zoey gave him a look.

“Well, okay,” Tobin replied, “We should do this again sometime! Put it up on the Insta!”

Tobin turned back to Autumn, mumbling, “They’re never going on the Insta.”

She could hear bits and pieces of Zoey and Max’s conversation before they got into the car.

“When did she start working here again? We can’t change our coffee spot again.”

“Not only that,” Zoey confirmed, “We haven’t been back to the aquarium for months. It’s been a real travesty.”

Max already pulled out his phone. “I’ll get tickets for this weekend. Ever heard of Yoga with the Sharks?”

Tobin held the door open for Autumn. She affirmed, “He really does dress like a third-grader.”

Tobin nodded in response, “You know what he could use?”

“A men’s version of FabFitFun?”

It was certain Tobin liked her answer because he linked arms with her while they walked into the coffee shop.

“My first customer. I wonder how he feels about toners.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied - this one wasn't a short chapter. Autumn was really fun to write and I loved throwing Tobin in the mix. I remember watching somewhere that Kapil Talwalkar (Tobin) said he hopes that next season Tobin will fall in love. This is my take on that, and Tobin and Autumn fit surprisingly well.
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated! I always look forward to the notification that someone commented on the chapter. Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first time writing for Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist, but after that finale, I had to write up something to tide me over until Season 2 (fingers crossed). As always, comments are appreciated!


End file.
